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„„,V.  OF  CALIF.  UBRARV.  LOS  A.GELE. 


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AS  ANDREAS  FIRED,   THE  COUNT'S  FIGURE  TOTTERED 
AND  FELL.  BACKWARD  OVER  THE  CLIFF 


A  BIRD  OF  PASSAGE 


BY 
GRACE  STAIR 


BOSTON 
RICHARD  G.  BADGER 

THE    OORHAM    PRESS 


Copyright,  1921,  by  Eichabd  G.  Badges 


All  Ri^ts  Reserved 


Made  in  the  United  States  of  America 


The  Gorham  Press,  Boston,  U.  S.  A. 


TO 
MOTHERS 


2132804 


A  BIRD  OF  PASSAGE 


A  BIRD  OF  PASSAGE 

CHAPTER  I 


Somewhere  below  stairs  in  a  narrow  stone  house  on  the 
Bendler  Strasse  a  bell  jangled,  and  in  the  second  floor 
back-parlor  a  group  of  children  stopped  their  play  to 
listen.  Amid  shouts  and  squeals  of  mirth,  they  opened 
the  door  just  as  their  mother,  on  the  other  side,  was  about 
to  turn  the  handle,  and  into  the  room  came  a  slim  little 
thing  in  a  plaid  dress,  blue  coat  and  hat.  Her  coppery- 
brown  hair  was  flying  and  her  brown  eyes  danced  as  she 
flung  her  arms  around  the  girl  in  "grown-up"  clothes, 
who  was  her  own  age. 

"Bertha !"  There  were  more  squeals  and  exclamations 
while  the  other  children  jumped  up  and  down  and  clapped 
their  hands  in  an  honest  effort  to  make  the  general 
clamor  proportionate  to  the  warmth  of  the  visitor's  wel- 
come. This  little  girl  they  knew  to  be  Olga  von  Kranz, 
who  had  been  sent  from  Russia  to  spend  the  winter  at 
their  sister  Bertha's  school  in  Berlin.  Now  school  was 
over  and  Olga  was  to  visit  her  friend  for  a  few  days  be- 
fore being  taken  to  Russia  for  the  summer. 

Bertha  reached  for  the  blue  hat.  "I'm  playing  lady 
and  there's  a  long  skirt  for  you.     Come  on,  hurry  up !" 


8  A  Bird  of  Passage 

"So,  so!  Is  that  the  way  to  speak  to  a  little  guest?" 
interrupted  Frau  Kaufmann.  "And  not  so  much  noise, 
darlings."  The  children  only  laughed  more  than  ever. 
"Well,  have  a  good  time  at  your  play.  After  a  while  we 
will  have  a  little  tea  party  in  honor  of  Olga." 

"Oh,  goody,  goody,  goody !"  they  chorused  again.  And 
soon  they  were  settled  down  to  play,  Ernest,  the  brother, 
drilling  leaden  soldiers  on  the  carpet,  "Ein,  zwei;  ein, 
zwei!"  and  Cousin  Rena  helping  the  two  little  ones  with 
a  picture  puzzle.  Bertha  and  Olga  pretended  to  be 
grown-up  ladies  calling  upon  one  another. 

Presently  a  man's  firm  steps  sounded  on  the  stair  out- 
side. Herr  Kaufmann!  Would  he  pass  on,  or  would  he 
come  in  to  see  the  children.''  Involuntarily  they  ceased 
playing  to  look  at  one  another.  The  foot-steps  stopped, 
the  door  opened,  and  Ernest  sprang  to  his  feet  in  salute 
before  the  tall,  stem-faced  man  who  appeared.  Gravely 
the  little  girls  made  formal  curtsies.  Herr  Kaufmann,  in 
a  genial  mood,  laughed  in  kindly  fashion. 

"So!  You  are  all  playing  happily  here,  eh?"  he  asked, 
in  the  hard,  deep  voice  so  well  suited  to  his  personality. 

"Yes,  father,"  answered  Bertha.  "Olga  is  Frau  Rath. 
She's  calling  on  me." 

*'Wie  gehts,  Frau  Rath?"  he  responded,  bowing  to  the 
child,  who  thrilled  at  this  distinction.  "And  what  do  you 
do  with  the  soldaten,  Ernest?" 

"I'm  having  the  spring  manoeuvers,  father.  This  is 
the  Emperor.    He's  come  to  see  the  other  soldiers  march." 

"Nim!  How  would  all  of  you  like  to  come  with  me  and 
see  a  review  to-morrow?    But  first  you  shall  answer  me  a 


A  Bird  of  Passage  9 

few  questions.  You  must  not  forget  your  lessons  through 
the  summer,  you  know."  The  children  did  not  seem  sur- 
prised, having  apparently  anticipated  some  such  condi- 
tion to  their  pleasure. 

**Bertha,  on  what  day  was  the  glorious  battle  of 
Sedan?" 

"September  2,  1870,  papa." 

"Sehr  gut !  Ernest,  name  one  of  the  enemy  generals  at 
the  Battle  of  Sedan." 

But  from  Ernest  came  no  quick  reply.  As  the  rest 
looked  at  him,  his  face  flushed  to  the  roots  of  his  blond 
curls.  He  sent  an  appealing  glance  at  his  father,  and 
saw  no  help  nor  mercy  in  a  face  grown  more  than  usually 
stem.  With  the  toe  of  his  brown  boot  he  dug  into  the 
carpet. 

"Stop  doing  that!"  snapped  Herr  Kaufmann.  "I  am 
waiting." 

"I  don't  know,  father,"  faltered  Ernest  at  last,  ven- 
turing another  glance. 

Quick  as  the  eye  could  follow,  Herr  Kaufmann  struck 
his  son's  face  a  resounding  thwack,  and  white  marks  of 
his  fingers  appeared  on  the  pink  cheeks  as  the  boy's  head 
was  jerked  back  by  the  surprise  and  vigor  of  the  blow. 
A  faint  cry  escaped  between  his  lips. 

"What !  You  are  going  to  cry,  too  ?"  shouted  Herr 
Kaufmann.  "A  son  of  mine  does  not  know  the  name  of 
Prussia's  vanquished,  and  cries  when  you  ask  him!  I 
wager  you  do  not  know  the  name  of  His  Imperial  Ma- 
jesty, even.  Here!  I'll  give  you  something  to  cry 
about."     The  other  hand  flew  up  against  Ernest's  head 


10  A  Bird  of  Passage 

with  a  force  that  sent  him  in  a  little  heap  among  his 
valiant  lead  soldiers.  This  time  the  boy  did  not  cry  out, 
but  lay  still,  with  his  face  buried  in  his  arms. 

The  girls  cowered  in  silence,  waiting. 

Herr  Kaufmann  strode  across  the  room  to  the  book- 
case, without  a  glance  at  the  child  on  the  floor.  He  chose 
a  volume,  whipped  over  a  few  pages,  then  spoke  sharplyj 
"Bertha!  Come  here!" 

The  child  sidled  stealthily  toward  him,  like  a  dog  ex- 
pecting punishment. 

"Here,  in  this  book,  is  something  for  you  children  to 
learn.  You  will  take  this  and  begin  at  once.  Those  who 
can  recite  it  to  me  to-morrow  morning  will  go  to  the  re- 
view, but  the  others  will  stay  home  in  disgrace.  As  for 
Ernest,  he  will  not  go  at  all.  He  will  know  the  poem  by 
this  evening  or  be  caned,  and  while  the  rest  of  you  are  at 
the  review,  he  will  stay  here  and  write  it  for  me  ten  times. 

*'What  would  the  Emperor  say  if  he  knew  that  a  son 
of  mine  was  such  a  dummkopf  ?" 

Then  he  read  sonorously: 

"  *Es  war  einmal  ein  jiibel  tag, 
Bei  Sedan  fiel  den  grossten  schlag. 
MacMahon  war  ins  Gem  gegangen, 
Der  Kaiser  und  sein  Herr  gefangen.' 

**I  suppose  you  know  who  is  meant  by  *der  Kaiser'?" 
he  looked  ominously  at  the  children.     "Bertha!" 

*'Please,  papa,  it  was  Louis  Napoleon,  Napoleon  the 
Third,"  responded  her  timid  voice.  Bertha  was  notori- 
ously good  in  history  at  school. 


A  Bird  of  Passage  11 

"Do  you  hear  that,  young  man?  Your  sister  should 
have  the  soldiers  to  drill.  Hers  is  the  spirit  of  which 
Germany  is  proud.  Men  and  women  like  her  and  not 
dolts  like  yourself  have  made  the  glorious  Empire  what  it 
is ;  they  give  it  promise  for  the  future. 

"I  will  leave  the  book.  Begin  at  once  to  study  the 
lines,  all  of  you." 

Handing  the  book  to  Bertha  and  giving  Ernest  a  push 
with  his  boot  as  he  went  past,  Herr  Kaufmann  left  the 
room.  When  the  door  had  closed  Bertha  rushed  to  her 
brother  and  pulled  his  arms  away  from  his  face.  Glassy 
and  staring,  the  boy's  eyes  were  bright  with  rage  and 
pain  and  fear. 

"You  heard.'"*  said  she,  quickly.  "Come,  you  must 
take  the  book.  We'll  all  begin  saying  the  poem  together. 
Father  is  very  angry." 

Ernest  sat  up  and  glared  about  him.  A  long,  sighing 
sob  came  up  from  the  depths  of  his  wounded  and  ag- 
grieved spirit.  "Verdammnte  Franzozen  I"  said  he,  utter- 
ing the  mighty  oath  with  a  solemnity  that  startled  Olga, 
expecting  the  timid  words  of  a  trembling,  penitent  boy. 
"Some  day  I  will  kill  one  of  them,  or  the  English  swine, 
to  pay  me  for  this."  She  thought  how  strange  and  horri- 
ble it  was  to  hear  such  words  from  the  soft  red  lips  of 
Bertha's  brother. 

Playing  was  forgotten  for  the  rest  of  that  long  dread- 
ful afternoon,  while  the  children  sat  around  the  table, 
repeating  the  verses.  Olga  sat  with  the  others,  mechanic- 
ally learning  the  lines ;  but  her  child's  heart  rankled  with 
the  unfairness  of  Ernest's  treatment. 

Her  father  and  mother  were  both  dead  and  Olga  was 


12  A  Bird  of  Passage 

glad  that  she  had  no  father,  if  they  were  all  like  Herr 
Kaufmann. 

Within  two  or  three  days,  however,  the  incident  seemed 
to  have  been  forgotten  by  everyone  save  Olga.  The  whole 
affair  was  like  a  summer  thunder  storm,  fierce  and  black 
and  terrible  while  it  lasted,  but  leaving  no  trace  when 
the  sun  shone  again,  excepting  perhaps  where  a  murder- 
ous shaft  of  lightning  had  marked  a  growing  tree. 

n 

Then  came  Fraulein  Weinau,  to  take  Olga  to  her 
uncle's  estate  near  the  city  of  Pskov,  in  southwestern 
Russia,  where  Michael  Serov  managed  the  extensive  prop- 
erty belonging  to  his  sister  Alix  in  England,  Marie  and 
himself.  At  present  Marie's  share  was  being  held  in 
trust  for  her  child  by  Michael  and  a  sister-in-law,  the 
Countess  Soscha  Hohenwald,  attached  to  the  suite  of  the 
Archduchess  Valerie  at  the  Austrian  court.  The  little 
girl  Olga  had  been  left  an  orphan  at  the  age  of  two  years 
when  the  overturn  of  a  coach  on  one  of  the  mountain 
roads  in  Austria  had  resulted  in  the  instant  death  of  both 
her  mother  and  father.  Michael  was  growing  tired  of 
staying  in  Russia,  and  had  announced  his  desire  to  sell 
the  land  and  remove  to  the  south  of  France,  which  offered 
more  diversions  than  horseback-riding,  an  occasional  card 
game,  or  a  flirtation  with  a  pretty  peasant.  The  wooded 
hills  and  picturesque  streams  of  his  native  country  no 
longer  had  power  to  charm  him,  and  summer  was  no  bet- 
ter than  winter,  with  the  added  responsibility  of  caring 
for  a  little  niece  who  baffled  Serov  with  the  steady  gaze 
of  her  brown  eyes  and  her  searching  questions. 


A  Bird  of  Passage  18 

m 

Olga  had  been  in  Russia  for  about  a  month  and  a  half 
when  one  afternoon  she  was  left  to  amuse  herself  while 
Uncle  Serov  rode  about  the  two  or  three  villages  on  the 
estate  along  the  highroad  a  mile  or  so  to  the  west  of 
the  "great  house."  Fraulein  Weinau,  her  governess,  was 
spending  a  week  with  friends  in  Pskov,  and  Sophia,  the 
maid,  who  was  supposed  to  look  after  Olga,  was  busy 
about  her  own  affairs,  so  the  child  had  settled  herself 
with  a  box  of  colored  pencils  and  some  paper  at  the  table 
in  her  uncle's  library  on  the  second  floor.  It  was  rather 
gloomy  there,  lighted  only  by  long  narrow  windows,  cur- 
tained at  the  sides  with  red  velour  and  shaded  outside 
by  thick  pine  trees  whose  branches  almost  brushed  the 
glass.  For  a  while  she  drew  steadily,  sitting  with  one 
foot  beneath  her  on  a  high  cushioned  chair,  but  after  a 
time  the  silence  and  dim  light  in  the  sombre  room  began 
to  affect  her. 

Two  big  tears  had  already  formed  in  the  brown  eyes, 
when  there  was  suddenly  a  furtive,  shuffling  noise  in  the 
direction  of  her  uncle's  bedroom,  which  adjoined  the 
library.  The  tears  splashed  unheeded  down  Olga's  cheeks 
as  she  turned  her  head  in  time  to  see  a  small  figure  scurry 
past  the  open  bedroom  door.  Olga  wriggled  out  of  the 
chair  and  crossed  the  room  noiselessly. 

From  the  doorway  she  was  just  in  time  to  see  a  scrawny 
arm  and  a  thin,  dirty  hand  reach  around  the  comer  of 
the  mahogany  high-boy  at  the  right  of  the  entrance. 
Fascinated,  she  watched  the  fingers  fasten  upon  a  heap 
of  rumpled  bank  notes  and  coins  lying  carelessly  on  top. 


14  A  Bird  of  Passage 

Stealthily  the  fingers  and  their  booty  disappeared.  Olga 
went  hurriedly  around  the  big  piece  of  furniture,  nearly 
knocking  over  the  figure  preparing  to  make  a  dash  across 
the  room  for  freedom. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  demanded  Olga,  with  her  best 
semblance  of  stem  dignity.  "Don't  you  know  it's  wrong 
to  take  what  doesn't  belong  to  you?"  Into  her  mind 
flashed  a  picture  of  Herr  Kaufmann  standing  wrathfully 
over  the  prostrate  Ernest.  Think  how  he  would  treat 
this  culprit! 

Thus  addressed,  the  figure  stopped,  crouching  against 
the  side  of  the  high-boy.  Olga  saw  a  girl  a  trifle  older 
than  herself,  obviously  of  the  peasantry,  and  dressed  in 
a  pitifully  worn  frock,  with  a  thin  shawl  over  her  head 
and  shoulders.  She  was  barefoot,  and  there  were  bruises 
and  streaks  of  dried  blood  from  scratches  along  her 
skinny  legs  and  over  her  feet.  Yet  she  was  not  an  ugly 
being,  for  even  her  wretchedness  could  not  detract  from 
the  glory  of  two  grey  eyes  that  grew  wide  and  beautiful 
with  fear  as  she  looked  up  at  Olga.  They  held  no  appeal, 
save  the  faint  hope  of  the  dumb  beast  who  thinks  of 
pardon  even  as  the  descending  lash  whistles  through  the 
air.  Olga  was  surprised  at  the  silence  and  non-resistance 
which  greeted  her  outburst. 

"What  were  you  doing  in  my  uncle's  room?"  Coming 
close  to  the  girl,  she  leaned  over  and  hissed:  "I'll  call 
Baba  Yaga  from  the  pine  woods  and  she'll  eat  you  alive, 
if  you  don't  give  back  that  money."     No  response. 

Baba  Yaga,  witch  of  fable,  made  no  impression  on  the 
little  peasant's  mind;  other  consequences  were  more  pos- 
sible than  the  appearance  of  a  mythical  hag,  and  Uncle 


A  Bird  of  Passage  15 

Serov's  name  would  have  been  even  better  than  a  witch's 
for  inspiring  terror.  Olga  tried  another  method  of 
attack. 

''Wouldn't  your  mother  be  ashamed  of  you,  if  she  could 
see  you?"  Having  no  mother  herself,  she  fancied  that 
to  make  one's  mother  sorry  was  a  very  grave  wrong. 

At  the  word  "mother,"  the  young  stoic's  fortitude 
broke  and  her  lower  lip  quivered.  After  all  she  was  little 
more  than  a  frightened  child.  "This  is  for  her."  She 
stretched  out  a  dirty  hand  full  of  rumpled  notes  and  the 
coins. 

"Why  does  your  mother  let  you  take  money?"  asked 
Olga,  indignantly.  "Doesn't  she  know  it's  wrong? 
Doesn't  your  papa  give  her  any?" 

"Mama  doesn't  know  I've  taken  anything.  Papa  had 
to  buy  himself  a  greatcoat  and  pay  the  tax,  and  there 
isn't  any  money  left.  Mama  is  sick  and  she  needs  good 
soup  to  drink."  She  opened  the  other  hand  with  a  ges- 
ture of  despair.  "I  took  this  chain  first.  I  meant  to  sell 
it  to  Rindskoff ,  the  old  Jew  in  the  village.  He  never  asks 
where  things  come  from." 

"Why  doesn't  your  father  buy  food?  And  a  decent 
dress  for  you,  and  shoes?     What  does  your  father  do?" 

"He's  your  uncle's  coachman." 

"Oh,  is  Stephan  your  father?"  asked  Olga,  in  amaze- 
ment and  relief.  "That's  all  right,  then.  I'll  just  tell 
my  uncle  to  give  you  some  money." 

Unreasoning  terror  filled  the  face  of  Marya,  daughter 
of  Stephan  Georgovitch.  She  flung  herself  at  Olga's  feet 
and  sobbed  wildly,  "Don't  tell  him!  Please  don't  tell 
him!     I'll  give  you  the  money  and  the  chain,  and  my 


16  A  Bird  of  Passage 

mother  can  die,  but  don't  tell  your  uncle.  Please,  please, 
please !" 

"What  is  your  name?'* 

"Marya,"  sobbed  the  girl. 

"Well,  Marya,  don't  be  so  silly!  I  don't  mind  asking 
uncle  for  money  or  food  for  you.  He'll  help  you  and 
your  mother  will  get  well." 

"No,  no !"  wailed  the  other,  in  a  perfect  agony  of  fear. 
"Don't  tell  him!"  Then  Olga,  without  more  ado,  sat 
down  on  the  floor  beside  the  weeping  Marya. 

"You  must  tell  me,  you  know,"  she  said  sympathetic- 
ally. "Only  you  mustn't  be  so  afraid  of  my  uncle.  Why 
should  you?  He's  a  very  kind  man.  Of  course  he's  cross 
sometimes,  but  everyone  is  sometime." 

"You  are  of  his  blood,  that's  why  you  say  he's  kind," 
said  Marya,  simply.  She  had  relaxed  and  was  sitting  on 
on  the  floor  beside  Olga.  Now  that  the  niece  of  Serov 
seemed  disposed  to  be  merciful,  Marya  would  exchange 
information  for  mercy.  "If  your  uncle  knew  that  one  of 
Stephan's  family  had  even  come  into  his  house  without 
being  asked,  he  would  have  my  father  beaten  and  me,  too. 
He'd  say  it  was  an  insult  to  have  his  coachman's  children 
running  about  the  place.  And  as  for  stealing!  He'd 
kill  us  for  that!" 

"Oh,  no !"  cried  Olga,  in  horror.  "He  wouldn't,  either. 
.  ,  .  Doesn't  Uncle  Serov  give  your  father  wages?" 

"My  father  has  to  buy  grand  clothes  to  wear  when 
he  drives  your  uncle's  carriage,  and  there's  the  tax  on  the 
land  and  rent  for  our  house.  My  mother  worked  in 
the  fields  to  earn  more,  but  it  made  her  sick  to  work  so 
hard  in  the  cold  and  rain  and  mud.     If  your  uncle  knows 


A  Bird  of  Passage  17 

that  I  have  taken  money,  he'll  beat  us  and  turn  us  out 
of  his  lands,  too." 

*'I  don't  believe  you,"  said  Olga,  finally.  "My  uncle 
isn't  so  mean." 

*'Yes,  he  is.  You  weren't  here  when  old  Ivan,  the  gar- 
dener, got  caught  taking  a  flower  from  the  hot-house. 
His  wife  loved  bright  colors  and  he  wanted  to  give  her 
just  the  littlest  plant  with  flowers  on  it.  Because  he  took 
one,  he  was  beaten,  and  his  wife  put  to  work  in  the  fields, 
yoked  with  an  ox.  She  was  old  and  feeble,  but  when  she 
stumbled,  they  whipped  her  until  she  got  up  and  went 
on.  In  two  weeks  she  was  dead,  and  then  old  Ivan  threw 
himself  into  the  river  and  died,  too."  Marya  drew  her- 
self up  on  her  knees  and  looked  piercingly  at  Olga.  "If 
you  mean  to  tell  your  uncle,  I  shall  go  out  and  throw 
myself  in  the  water  now.  I'd  rather  die  a  million  times 
than  see  my  father  beaten  and  my  mother  disgraced  or 
hurt." 

Now  it  was  Olga  who  was  frightened,  though  she  gave 
no  sign  of  the  cold  terror  that  clutched  her  heart.  Could 
her  uncle  be  so  brutal,  and  to  those  who  were  supposed  to 
be  under  his  protection.''  Surely  life  should  be  more  sim- 
ple. One  was  hungry,  and  one  could  have  bread  for  the 
asking.  But  no !  Marya  had  said  there  was  a  beating 
or  worse  punishment  if  one  asked.  Then  a  resolve  grew 
in  Olga's  heart. 

"How  much  money  did  you  take?"  she  asked.  Without 
the  bank  notes,  the  whole  did  not  exceed  three  roubles. 
"That's  all  right.  Put  back  the  paper  money,  and  take 
the  rest.  I've  got  my  allowance  and  when  you  go  I'll 
put  my  money  up  there  and  nobody  will  ever  know. 


18  A  Bird  of  Passage 

"But  won't  you  take  me  to  see  your  mother?  There'll 
be  time  before  my  uncle  comes  back."  In  her  child's  mind 
there  was  a  desire  to  see  this  new  object  of  interest  with- 
out thought  of  verifying  Marya's  statements.  It  was 
characteristic  of  Olga  to  accept  much  on  faith,  once  she 
thought  faith  was  justified.  "We  must  hurry !"  Back  on 
the  high-boy  went  the  bank  notes  but  the  bit  of  chain 
slipped  unheeded  to  the  floor,  and  hand  in  hand  the  two 
girls  fled  through  the  doorway. 

rv 

Meanwhile  Michael  Serov  was  riding  slowly  home 
through  the  gathering  dusk.  He  was  not  in  the  best 
temper,  and  his  mood  of  slow,  wordless  thought  meant 
danger  ahead  for  the  person  unfortunate  enough  to  rouse 
his  wrath  to  the  point  of  expression.  Things  had  gone 
badly  all  afternoon.  There  was  the  matter  of  the  mili- 
tary highroad,  which  needed  repairs.  The  district  gov- 
ernment was  going  to  send  a  man  to  superintend  the 
work,  and  if  there  was  a  person  harder  to  keep  at 
peace  with  the  rest  of  humanity  than  one  of  those  super- 
intendents, Serov  knew  from  past  experience  that  he  had 
yet  to  be  found.  There  would  be  the  devil  to  pay  all  the 
rest  of  the  season  until  frost  set  in  and  stopped  the 
work.  Then  a  hailstorm  had  smashed  the  glass  on  some 
hot-beds  and  ruined  a  special  crop  of  lettuce  and  aspara- 
gus, of  which  Serov  was  inordinately  fond.  This  business 
of  managing  property  be  damned,  anyway.  Why  couldn't 
he  be  free  to  pick  up  and  go  to  the  south  of  France  if 
he  wanted  to? 

The  master  came  at  last  to  the  lodge  gates  where  he 


A  Bird  of  Passage  19 

dismounted  and  left  his  horse.  He  strolled  up  the  path, 
over  the  lawn  toward  the  house,  went  in  and  directly 
upstairs  to  his  library. 

*'Sophia  must  have  come  for  the  child,"  he  mused,  when 
he  saw  the  empty  room  and  the  crayons  scattered  on  the 
table.  "But  why  the  devil  doesn't  she  tidy  the  place? 
Mon  dieu!  This  house!  These  people!  No  discipline 
anywhere !"  Running  his  fingers  impatiently  through  his 
hair,  he  stalked  into  the  bedroom;  but  as  he  crossed  the 
threshold,  there  was  a  faint  crunching  sound.  He  looked 
down  and  saw  beneath  his  foot  a  bit  of  gold  chain  lying 
on  the  carpet. 

"What's  this  doing  here.'"'  he  exclaimed  sharply,  stoop- 
ing to  pick  it  up.  "I  wonder  if  that  child  has  been  mess- 
ing with  my  things."  Serov  had  a  bachelor's  impatience 
with  the  ways  of  children.  "I  wish  to  heaven  Soscha 
would  take  her  away  for  good.  One's  duty  to  a  dead 
sister  doesn't  last  forever.  Even  Alix  might  better  have 
her  than  I."  He  jerked  the  tasseled  bell- rope  in  the  cor- 
ner, and  when  his  man  appeared,  said,  "Feodor!  Have 
Sophia  bring  Mademoiselle  Olga  to  me  in  twenty  minutes." 

Stripping  oif  his  riding  clothes,  he  refreshed  himself 
with  dashes  of  cool  water  and  got  into  fresh  things  quick- 
ly. As  he  stood  before  the  high-boy,  tying  the  cord  of 
his  dressing  gown,  he  gave  a  sudden,  searching  glance  at 
the  top.  "I  certainly  left  some  coins  with  that  money?" 
he  said,  pushing  bottles  and  brushes  about.  He  looked 
around  the  room  speculatively,  remembering  the  piece  of 
chain.  "Somebody  started  to  rob  me  and  got  frightened 
away." 

In  the  library  he  lit  the  big  lamp,  pushed  aside  the 


20  A  Bird  of  Passage 

drawing  materials  and  sat  down  to  read  a  paper.  Time 
passed  and  no  one  came.  He  waited  some  ten  minutes 
longer,  then  flinging  down  his  paper,  strode  to  the  bell- 
rope.  Presently  Feodor  appeared  in  the  doorway.  "I 
thought  I  told  you  to  have  Sophia  bring  Mademoiselle 
Olga  to  me  half  an  hour  ago,"  snarled  Serov. 

"If  you  please,  sir,"  answered  the  man,  "Miss  Olga 
just  came  in  a  few  minutes  past  and  Sophia  is  cleaning 
her  up.     She'll  be  here  directly,  sir." 

"Just  came  in,  did  you  say.''  I  didn't  give  any  orders 
for  her  to  be  out.  Who's  been  letting  her  roam  about 
the  place. 5*  Somebody's  going  to  pay  for  this. 
•  *'You,  Feodor,  straighten  this  mess  on  the  table.  Pap- 
'''^ers  and  pencils  and  scribblings  all  around,  as  though  this 
was  a  school-room."  Serov  stood  by  the  long  windows, 
moodily  watching  the  quiet,  efficient  Feodor  and  waiting 
for  something  with  which  he  might  find  fault.  At  the 
moment  Olga's  quaint  figure  in  a  fresh  white  dress  stood 
in  the  doorway,  her  hair  nicely  smoothed  and  tied  with 
a  narrow  blue  ribbon  that  terminated  in  a  small  bow  just 
above  her  bang.  Serov  wondered  irrelevantly  if  he  would 
terrify  this  youngster  with  her  innocent  air  of  awaiting 
his  pleasure. 

"Where  have  you  been,  my  fine  young  lady?"  he  said 
severely.  "Didn't  I  leave  you  at  home  because  I  didn't 
want  you  out  of  the  house  to-day.''  And  no  sooner  have 
I  left  than  you  run  oflf  and  stay  away  for  hours.  Where 
were  you.''" 

"Please,  imcle,  I  was  down  near  Stephan's  cottage. 
His  wife  is  so  sick,  and  I " 

*'Who  told  you  anything  about  Stephan's  wife?"  inter- 


A  Bird  of  Passage  21 

rupted  Serov.  "You  aren't  to  have  anything  to  do  with 
the  family,  no  matter  what  happens  to  them.  Are  you  a 
lady,  or  not,  to  go  trailing  around  alone  over  the  estate, 
looking  in  at  coachmen's  sick  wives?  You've  been  left 
alone  here  and  you've  heard  the  servants  talk,  haven't 
you?"  Silence  from  Olga.  "Well,  anyway,  I  want  you 
to  come  here.     I  want  to  ask  you  something. 

"Were  you  playing  in  my  room  or  did  you  see  anyone 
there?" 

Olga  started  guiltily.  Here  was  a  dilemma.  Without 
having  had  time  to  replace  the  stolen  money  she  was 
confronted  with  this  question.  Dared  she  tell  Uncle  Serov 
the  truth?  Could  he  possibly  be  brutal  enough  to  do  as 
Marya  had  said?  Olga  could  not  bear  to  think  of  that, 
for  the  memory  of  the  afternoon  in  the  little  log  hut  of 
the  Georgovitch  was  too  vivid. 

A  sweet-faced  woman,  the  mother,  with  the  kindest  eyes 
Olga  had  ever  seen,  and  yet  such  tired  eyes.  Marya 
would  not  let  Olga  come  into  the  house,  lest  it  should 
worry  her  mother  to  see  the  master's  niece  coming  so 
obviously  without  permission.  Instead  she  had  peered  in 
through  a  chink  in  the  logs  toward  the  hard,  low  bed  on 
which  lay  the  gaunt  frame  of  the  peasant  woman.  There 
it  was  that  Olga  saw  the  light  of  love  denied  to  her  feebly 
flame  in  the  grey  eyes  so  like  Marya's  own.  Marya  gave 
her  mother  an  orange  that  Olga  had  taken  from  the  din- 
ing room  on  their  way  out. 

"Merovka,  a  great  lady  passed  on  the  highroad  to- 
day," lied  the  glib-tongued  Marya.  "I  tried  to  get  out 
of  the  way,  but  she  saw  me  scrambling  up  the  bank  and 
tossed  me  this   orange.     Her  carriage  went  on  out  of 


22  A  Bird  of  Passage 

sight,  and  I  brought  the  orange  home  to  you."  Deftly 
the  child  was  skinning  the  fruit  and  pressing  out  the 
juice.  "You  must  drink  this  and  get  strong.  Only  don't 
tell  papa  about  the  lady  and  the  orange.  He  mightn't 
like  to  know  I  had  been  by  the  highroad." 

Merovka  had  taken  the  drink  like  a  tired  child.  Sigh- 
ing as  she  smiled  faintly  at  her  little  daughter,  she  lay 
back  on  the  bed  and  closed  her  eyes.  Then  Marya  had 
stolen  outside  to  where  Olga  waited.  "You  heard  what 
I  said.  To-morrow  I'll  tell  her  something  else  when  I 
give  her  the  good  things  to  eat  that  I  can  buy  with  the 
money." 

"I  must  go  back,"  said  Olga.  "But  I'll  try  to  come 
again.    If  you  want  any  more  help,  come  and  tell  me." 

"Only  don't  let  your  uncle  know  that  I  was  in  his 
house,"  begged  Marya.  "Please!  For  the  sake  of 
Merovka  and  me!" 

"I  promise,"  Olga  had  answered. 

While  all  this  flashed  through  her  mind  Serov  was  wait- 
ing and  watching  her  face.  He  took  what  he  saw  for 
ignorance  and  surprise,  however,  and  turned  to  Feodor 
in  a  rage. 

"She  doesn't  know  anything  about  it,  you  see,  so  it 
must  be  you,  you  cur!"  He  came  close  to  the  amazed 
valet. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  going  into  my  room  and  taking 
money  and  chains  and  Heaven  knows  what  else?  Taking 
advantage  of  my  kindness  to  you,  eh?  Well,  I'll  soon 
teach  you  a  lesson.  Have  you  any  money  in  your 
clothes?"  He  ran  his  hands  roughly  over  the  valet's 
clothing,  thrusting  his  hands  into  the  pockets. 


A  Bird  of  Passage  23 

"Aha!"  he  sneered,  "here  is  something!  Two  gold 
coins !  And  a  few  kopecs  beside.  What  have  you  done 
with  the  rest?  Spent  already,  I'll  venture,  or  given  to 
that  wench  of  yours."     He  flung  the  money  on  the  table. 

Feodor's  serious  fine  eyes  showed  resentful  gleams.  He 
was  known  as  one  of  the  most  respectable  young  fellows 
in  the  neighborhood.  Piety  and  attention  to  the  cere- 
monies of  the  church  were  unusually  marked  in  his  be- 
havior, even  among  people  of  a  race  which  possessed 
these  attributes  in  high  degree. 

"Sir,  I  haven't  taken  your  money,"  he  began. 

"Be  quiet,  dog!"  flared  Serov.  "Not  a  word  from 
you!"  He  stalked  out  into  the  corridor  and  bawled  over 
the  gallery  railing:  "Vassily!  Vassily!  Come  here! 
Fetch  Stephan,  and  Paul  from  the  garden,  and  come  at 
once  to  my  room." 

Stunned  by  the  speed  of  proceedings,  Olga  was  trying 
desperately  to  find  words  to  help  the  unfortunate  Feodor 
who,  realizing  the  hopelessness  of  his  situation,  spoke 
swiftly,  intensely  to  the  child.  He  must  justify  himself 
before  someone,  even  a  mite  of  a  girl. 

"I  didn't  take  any  money.  Those  gold  coins  are  my 
life's  savings.  They  only  came  from  the  exchange  at 
Petersburg  last  week,  and  I'm  keeping  them  for  the  fete 
day  of  my  patron  saint."  He  crossed  himself  devoutly. 
"Then  they  were  to  go  for  the  poor." 

Anguish  wrung  little  Olga's  soul.  What  was  this  awful 
consequence  of  her  promise  to  be  silent?  What  conse- 
quences more  awful  would  there  be  if  she  told  while  there 
was  still  time? 

"I  believe  you,  Feodor,"  she  said  softly,  tears  filling 


24  A  Bird  of  Passage 

her  eyes  and  sobs  choking  her.  She  went  to  him  and  took 
his  big  hand  in  hers.  "I  wish  I  could  help  you,"  she  be- 
gan, then  burst  into  tears  and  turned  away. 

"Wliat  do  you  mean  by  frightening  that  child?"  roared 
Serov,  returning  to  the  room.  "You'll  get  enough  for 
what  you've  done,  without  trying  anything  more. 

"Here !  in  here !"  And  stepping  aside,  he  motioned  the 
servants  in  from  the  hall. 

"Take  him  out  and  lock  him  up  in  the  coach  house. 
We'll  soon  settle  his  case." 

Shrinking  into  the  recess  of  a  window,  Olga  watched 
the  three  men  as  they  hustled  poor  Feodor  out  of  the 
room.  Vassily,  tall  and  dignified;  Stephan,  of  massive 
frame  with  great,  powerful-looking  hands  for  managing 
the  strong  horses ;  and  the  short,  squat  Paul,  blinking 
from  his  close-set  eyes  at  the  novel  scene  in  which  he  had 
a  part.  To  her  horror,  it  was  Stephan  who  seemed  most 
to  relish  his  work  of  evicting  Feodor.  Perhaps  it  was  an 
expression  of  the  antagonism  between  servants  working 
in  the  great  house  and  those  employed  outside;  perhaps 
it  was  because  Stephan  was  something  of  a  bully ;  perhaps 
he  was  only  giving  vent  to  rebellion  denied  other  outlet. 
At  any  rate,  he  pinched  and  jostled  Feodor,  prodding 
him  along  with  little  kicks,  and  handling  him  as  he  never 
would  have  permitted  one  of  the  horses  to  be  treated. 
From  time  to  time  he  cast  fawning  side-long  glances  at 
the  master,  to  note  whether  his  efforts  were  being  ap- 
proved. Feodor  clenched  his  teeth  and  made  no  sound, 
gave  no  struggle.  Soon  the  shuffling  group  was  out  of 
the  room  and  down  the  stair. 

Michael  Serov  turned  to  Olga,  his  rage  somewhat  molli- 


A  Bird  of  Passage  26 

fied.  "You  see  what  comes  of  being  decent  to  that  sort 
of  people?  They  only  wait  for  a  chance  to  .rob  us  of 
the  things  that  are  ours  by  right,  just  as  the  throne  be- 
longs to  the  Little  Father.  This  ought  to  help  you 
understand  a  great  deal.  Men  like  Feodor  aren't  any 
better  than  beasts  in  the  field;  they  haven't  even  the 
breeding  of  a  good  horse.  You've  got  to  treat  them  ac- 
cordingly. If  I  didn't  punish  Feodor  severely  for  steal- 
ing, then  every  person  who  could  get  into  the  house 
through  the  servants'  quarters  or  any  other  way  would 
walk  off  with  anything  he  liked.  And  the  next  thing, 
they  would  be  ordering  us  about.  So  you  see,  one  has  to 
be  firm." 

While  he  spoke  he  was  conscious  of  being  glad  that 
Soscha  need  not  know  the  child  had  witnessed  such  a 
brawl.  Olga,  for  her  part,  still  saw  the  burly  Stephan 
savagely  pushing  and  kicking  Feodor.  The  injustice  of 
it,  when  of  all  people  Stephan  would  be  most  in  danger 
himself  if  the  truth  were  known.  Feodor  was  to  suffer 
for  the  wrong-doing  of  Stephan's  own  daughter.  Olga 
felt  that  she  must  get  away  from  her  uncle's  presence,  so 
that  she  could  think  without  danger  of  saying  an  incau- 
tious, unguarded  word;  for  in  spite  of  everything,  she 
was  determined  to  protect  "Merovka,"  who  was  some- 
body's mother. 

"May  I  go  to  my  room?"  said  Olga,  at  last. 

"Eh?"  said  Uncle  Serov,  looking  up  from  the  paper  he 
had  calmly  resumed  to  read.  "Go  to  your  room?  Why, 
yes !  Of  course !  Tell  Sophia  to  give  you  your  tea  there 
to-night.  Be  a  good  girl  and  go  to  bed  early."  Olga 
curtsied  and  went  out  with  quick  little  steps. 


CHAPTER  II 


During  the  night  a  barouche  bringing  her  Aunt  Soscha 
and  Soscha's  son,  Giinther,  a  young  Austrian  just  at- 
taining his  majority,  rolled  into  the  court-yard.  The 
letter  announcing  their  intended  visit  had  been  delayed  in 
the  post  and  when  Soscha  found  no  one  at  the  train  to 
drive  them  over  from  Pskov,  a  distance  of  thirty  odd 
miles,  she  sent  a  dispatch  rider  on  ahead  to  prepare 
Serov  for  the  reception  of  his  guests. 

Ignorant  of  the  fact  that  at  the  very  moment  her  Aunt 
Soscha,  the  head  of  the  family  in  Olga's  opinion,  was 
sleeping  beneath  the  same  roof  as  herself,  the  child  had 
wakened  early  to  lie  gazing  at  the  high  ceiling  of  her 
bedroom,  and  through  the  window  that  looked  toward  the 
coach-house  set  among  the  trees.  Olga  shuddered  to 
think  of  spending  a  night  alone  in  that  gloomy  place; 
but  Feodor  had  been  shut  up  there.  What  would  they 
do  with  him  to-day,  she  wondered.  Would  she  be  able  to 
see  him?  Could  she  or  Marya  help  him  at  all.?  Her 
meditations  were  interrupted  by  the  arrival  of  Sophia 
with  breakfast. 

"What's  this,  awake  so  early .''"  she  asked,  putting 
down  the  tray.  "You  look  tired,  Fraulein  Olga,  or  ex- 
cited.    Anything  the  matter.''*' 

"I  didn't  have  very  good  dreams,"  answered  Olga.    "I 

26 


A  Bird  of  Passage  27 

don't  want  to  have  my  face  washed."  Sophia  had  gone 
to  the  door  to  bring  in  the  hot-water  pitcher. 

*'Now,  now,  that's  no  way  to  talk!  Sit  up  there  and 
let  me  wash  your  face  and  hands.  You  mustn't  be  lazy, 
especially  not  to-day." 

"What's  to-day?  Nothing's  going  to  happen  today, 
is  there?" 

"Hm!  I  should  say  there  is!  Something  happened 
last  night." 

"Oh!  Is  it  something  about  Feodor?  What  is  it? 
Have  they  taken  him  away  already?" 

"Him?  I  should  say  not!  What  do  you  want  to 
bother  about  him  for?  A  thief,  that's  what  he  is.  Held 
up  as  a  model  all  the  time  because  he  saved  his  money 
to  give  to  the  church,  and  all  the  time  he  was  probably 
stealing  it  right  and  left.  That  elegant  ikon  of  silver 
and  carved  wood  his  old  mother  was  so  proud  of  was 
probably  bought  with  stolen  money.  But  you  don't  want 
to  think  about  him  when  you've  got  better  things  to 
think  of.  Who  do  you  suppose  is  in  this  house,  this  very 
minute?" 

"Fraulein  Weinau?"  Olga  guessed,  ducking  her  head 
as  Sophia  washed  her  ears.  "Ouch!  Don't  dig  in  so 
hard!    You  hurt!" 

"Here,  here,  don't  wiggle  your  head!  You've  got  to 
be  all  clean  to-day,  I  tell  you.  .  .  .  No,  it  isn't  Fraulein 
Weinau.  You'll  never  have  her  again,  I  think.  Can't 
you  guess  who  it  is  any  better  than  that?  My  goodness, 
I'd  be  ashamed!" 

Olga  looked  intently  at  the  maid.  No,  it  couldn't  be — 
but  there  was  Sophia  so  smug  and  important.     "I  know 


28  A  Bird  of  Passage 

who  it  is!  Its  my  Aunt  Soscha,  isn't  it?  When  did  she 
come?  I  want  to  see  her  right  away.  I  want  to  see  her. 
I  wonder  if  she  brought  me  something  from  Vienna." 

"Fraulein  Olga!  Don't  be  vulgar!  Talking  about 
presents  the  first  thing.  I  tell  you  you  can't  see  her 
until  you're  cleaned  up.  You've  got  to  eat  your  break- 
fast first." 

"I  won't,  either!  I'm  going  to  go  and  get  in  bed  with 
her.  I  want  to  see  my  Aunt  Soscha."  Sophia  could  not 
understand  how  welcome  this  haven  of  Soscha's  presence 
seemed  to  the  little  girl,  haunted  by  Feodor's  misfortune. 
Never  before  in  her  life  had  she  wanted  so  much  to  be 
petted  and  caressed. 

'*You  shaU  see  her,  liebchen,"  came  a  voice  from  the 
doorway,  and  there  stood  the  radiant  creature  who  was 
Aunt  Soscha.  "No,  no !  You  mustn't  get  out  of  bed. 
You'd  catch  cold."  Sophia  stepped  aside  and  Soscha  was 
beside  the  bed  leaning  down  to  kiss  Olga,  who  flung  her 
arms  about  her  aunt's  neck.  There  was  nobody  in  the 
world  so  beautiful  as  Aunt  Soscha,  she  thought.  No  one 
who  had  such  blue  eyes,  such  white  skin,  nor  such  hair, 
like  the  finest  little  wiry  threads  of  red-gold.  Sophia's 
eyes,  too,  were  wide  with  admiration.  Here  was  a  woman 
she  would  like  to  serve.  Even  at  middle  age,  there  re- 
mained more  than  a  suggestion  of  the  delicate  grace  which 
must  have  been  her's  as  a  girl.  About  her  hovered  an  air 
of  reserve  and  formality,  a  certain  sense  of  keeping  aloof; 
but  this  was  a  quality  of  the  mind  too  subtle  for  Olga  or 
her  maid  to  recognize,  and  only  as  the  child  grew  older 
did  she  come  to  regard  it  as  one  of  the  keys  to  the  secret 


A  Bird  of  Passage  29 

of  her  aunt*s  nature.  For  Soscha  was  a  creature  of 
courts,  to  whom  the  performance  of  a  prescribed  action 
at  the  prescribed  time  was  more  than  the  breath  of  life. 
She  had  been  an  intimate  of  the  late  Empress  Elisabeth 
of  Austria  and  had  become  a  member  of  her  favorite 
daughter's  suite  not  many  months  after  the  assassin's 
dagger  had  taken  Elisabeth's  life  that  summer  day  of 
1898  in  Geneva.  It  had  been  one  of  the  many  curious 
contradictions  of  Elisabeth's  life  that  she  should  have 
chosen  for  a  companion  in  her  determined  attempts  to 
flee  from  the  rigors  of  court  rule  a  woman  like  the 
Countess  Hohenwald,  who  delighted  in  observing  every 
form  of  etiquette.  Nevertheless  sincere  devotion  and  sym- 
pathy on  Soscha's  part  had  been  recognized  by  the  Em- 
press, who  had  all  too  little  of  that  sort  of  thing  in  her 
life ;  and  more  than  once  Soscha  had  accompanied  her 
far  afield,  or  had  as  willingly  arisen  early  in  the  morning 
when  they  were  in  Vienna  to  mount  a  horse  and  go  riding 
with  her  through  drenching  rain  along  the  slippery  moun- 
tain roads.  But  there  was  no  doubting  that  Elisabeth 
had  been  grateful  for  this  unfaltering  readiness  to  risk 
accident  or  death  in  her  service  and  in  obedience  to  her 
wliims.  Tenacity  and  single-mindedness  of  purpose  were 
Soscha's  fundamental  characteristics. 

Suddenly  Olga  said  to  her,  "Aunt  Soscha!  Do  you 
know  that  there  is  a  man  shut  up  in  the  coach  house.'"' 

"No?"  Soscha  replied,  thinking  to  humor  the  child. 
''What  is  that  for?" 

**I  beg  your  pardon,  Madame,"  interrupted  Sophia, 
*'Feodor,  the  master's  valet,  stole  some  money  from  him. 


30  A  Bird  of  Passage 

They  found  it  out  last  night,  so  he's  been  kept  in  the 
coach  house  untU  they  decide  what  to  do  with  him.  Frau- 
lein  Olga's  been  talking  about  it  ever  since  it  happened." 

"I  know,  but  what  will  they  do  to  him?"  asked  Olga. 
Won't  the  priest  save  him.?     Feodor's  a  good  man." 

"There,  there !  This  isn't  nice  for  little  girls  to  think 
about,"  said  Soscha.  "We  mustn't  talk  of  it  any  more. 
Let  Sophia  help  you  dress  and  then  we'll  go  to  see  your 
Cousin  Giinther.  He'll  be  surprised  to  find  his  cousin 
almost  a  young  lady."  While  Olga  was  being  dressed, 
Soscha  went  quietly  about  the  room,  looking  into  ward- 
robes and  drawers,  to  Sophia's  extreme  discomfort.  Pres- 
ently she  spoke  to  the  maid.  "Do  you  think  Fraulein 
Olga's  clothes  can  be  made  ready  within  a  few  days?  I 
wish  you  would  come  back  here  in  an  hour,  to  talk  to 
me  about  her  things." 

''Very  good,  Madame,"  answered  Sophia,  her  mind  in 
a  turmoil.  Was  Fraulein  Olga  going  away  for  good? 
Would  there  be  any  chance  for  her  to  go,  too  ?  The  pos- 
sibility seemed  almost  too  splendid  to  be  true,  even  to 
Sophia's  highly  romantic  mind. 

Presently  Olga  was  ready  and  had  gone  down  stairs 
with  her  aunt.  They  found  Giinther  and  Michael  loung- 
ing under  the  trees  where  some  tables  and  chairs  indi- 
cated that  tea  was  served. 

"So  this  is  the  little  cousin?"  said  Giinther,  genially. 
Olga  thought  Giinther  a  very  handsome  young  man,  with 
eyes  like  his  mother's,  and  not  so  stem-looking  a  face  as 
Uncle  Serov's.  It  made  one  feel  quite  important,  having 
grown-up  men  get  up  to  hand  one  a  chair.  "What  do 
you  do  with  yourself  all  day?"  asked  her  cousin. 


A  Bird  of  Passage  31 

"She's  got  a  new  pony  that  you  ought  to  see,"  inter- 
rupted Serov.  "Rangy  little  Cossack  horse  from  the 
plains." 

"Her  name's  Tarenka,"  said  Olga. 

" 'Tarenka',  what  a  pretty  name?"  said  Soscha. 

"Yes,  Tarenka  means  *female  tyrant.'  Appropriate 
for  a  Cossack  horse.  But  thank  the  Lord  she  doesn't  live 
up  to  it.    Gentle  as  a  lamb,"  Michael  answered. 

"Michael,  tell  me,  does  Olga  ride  well?" 

"Yes,  she  has  a  pretty  fair  seat  and  she's  got  a  certain 
amount  of  natural  form,  but  I  couldn't  promise  you  how 
she'd  look  on  the  Prater.  A  few  lessons  with  a  good  mas- 
ter though,  and  she'll  be  all  right." 

Olga  was  in  terror  lest  someone  suggest  that  they  visit 
the  stables,  which  were  right  next  to  the  coach  house,  and 
she  couldn't  bear  the  thought  of  laughing  and  chattering 
where  Feodor  might  overhear,  and  Stephan  would  be  there, 
too.  Noticing  her  silence  Soscha  looked  at  her  keenly. 
"Where  are  the  stables,  Michael?    What  direction?" 

He  waved  his  hand  in  a  vague  semi-circle.  "Over  north- 
east. You  can  just  get  a  glimpse  of  the  trees  around  the 
coach  house,  and  the  stables  are  beyond  that." 

*'Maybe  Cousin  Giinther  would  like  to  see  the  rowboat," 
offered  Olga,  in  desperation.  "The  brook  is  almost  as 
wide  as  a  river  in  one  place  and  we  ride  on  it." 

"You  take  him  wherever  you  think  it  would  be  inter- 
esting," said  Soscha,  finally.  "You  know  all  about  the 
place  here,  so  we'll  let  you  use  your  own  judgment.  Per- 
haps we'll  all  go  riding  after  luncheon,  and  we  can  see  the 
horses  then." 


32  A  Bird  of  Passage 

When  thej  had  strolled  off  across  the  lawn,  Soscha 
turned  to  Michael.  "What  is  this  affair  about  a  thieving 
servant  of  yours?  And  what  has  it  to  do  with  Olga?  It 
was  almost  the  first  thing  she  spoke  of  when  I  saw  her 
this  morning.*' 

"^Vhy,  she  happened  to  be  in  my  library  yesterday  af- 
ternoon when  I  caught  this  fellow  with  some  gold  coins 
in  his  pockets.  He'd  been  disturbed  in  the  act  of  going 
through  my  things.  I  know  it  was  he,  because  nobody 
excepting  Olga  had  been  in  the  room  all  day,  so  we  put 
him  in  the  coach  house  over  night.  The  starosta  from  the 
nearest  village  is  coming  over  to  talk  to  me  this  afternoon 
and  we'll  fix  the  trial.  Will  you  smoke?"  He  offered  her 
his  cigarette  case. 

"No,  thank  you !  It's  not  the  thing  in  the  Archduchess 
Valerie's  household  for  her  women  to  smoke  and  I've  gotten 
all  out  of  the  habit.  Not  that  we're  prudes  in  Vienna. 
You'd  never  think  it  if  you  could  see  Eugenie  Kolnitz's 
salon  of  an  evening,  with  women  in  the  best  Viennese 
society  puffing  great  cigars. 

"But  about  this  Feodor,  or  whatever  his  name  is,'*  pur- 
sued Soscha.  "The  very  fact  that  he  is  in  the  coach  house 
was  what  made  Olga  willing  to  do  anything  rather  than 
have  us  go  to  the  stables.  I  was  watching  her  because 
she  was  so  obviously  distressed  that  I  knew  something  was 
wrong.'* 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know  how  there  could  be.  But  she's 
such  an  emotional  little  piece,  impetuous  and  impulsive  as 
the  deuce.    She's  a  handful.'* 

"A  handful  you'd  like  to  let  go  of,  Michael?**  smiled 
Soscha,  drawing  a  silver  chain  through  her  fingers. 


A  Bird  of  Passage  33 

"Would  I?  I've  got  a  plan  all  ready  to  pour  into  the 
ear  of  the  first  person  ready  to  listen."  Soscha  smiled 
encouragingly,  and  he  continued.  "If  I  wouldn't  have 
Olga  to  think  about  every  summer,  I'd  sell  this  whole 
estate  and  divide  the  money  three  ways, — for  Alix,  Olga, 
and  myself.  Then  I'd  take  the  first  train  for  the  south 
of  France  and  be  content  to  end  my  days  there." 

"Well !  You  do  know  pretty  much  what  you  want !  But 
is  there  any  good  chance  of  selling  the  property  without 
losing  money.'*  Not  everyone  is  looking  these  days  for 
enormous  Russian  holdings." 

"That's  just  it!  I've  got  an  American  now  with  an 
idea  of  making  this  into  a  sugar  beet  country.  He'd  give 
a  fine  price  on  it.  With  the  return  from  the  sale  of  this 
land  and  the  securities  we  have  for  her  from  poor  Marie, 
that  child  ought  to  be  worth  about  $500,000  in  her  own 
name.    Quite  a  dot  for  a  youngster  her  age." 

**You  have  looked  after  her  finances  and  I'll  make 
a  good  match  for  her  at  court.  That's  what  I've  always 
intended,  and  that's  why  I  came  up  here  now.  I  want  to 
take  her  back  to  Vienna  with  me  and  relieve  you  of  your 
responsibility.  You're  quite  sure  your  offer  for  this 
property  is  sound?" 

"None  better !  Just  to  show  you  how  badly  the  Ameri- 
can wants  this,  he's  bought  an  option  on  the  land  just 
east  of  ours — trying  to  force  me  into  making  him  a  lower 
price.  I  did  that  once  with  a  horse,  the  season  I  spent 
with  Alix  in  England." 

"The  matter's  quite  simple  then.  You  are  willing  for 
me  to  take  Olga  and  the  maid  Sophia  back  with  me  now? 


34  A  Bird  of  Passage 

That  reminds  me,  I've  got  to  go  and  talk  to  her  about 
Olga's  clothes." 

"Take  'em  both.  Take  anything  or  anybody  you  want, 
so  long  as  you  take  'em.    Blessings  on  you." 

Two  days  later  Olga  was  permitted  to  go  for  a  farewell 
ride  on  Tarenka.  She  planned  to  look  for  Marya  in  the 
village,  for  she  knew  nothing  of  what  had  happened  to 
Feodor.  Aunt  Soscha  wouldn't  let  her  talk  about  him, 
and  from  the  conversation  of  her  elders  she  could  glean 
only  the  most  meager  information.  Feodor  was  not  in  the 
coach  house  any  more,  she  knew  that;  but  where  had  he 
gone?  Was  he  dead,  or  in  prison?  One  afternoon  Uncle 
Serov  had  ridden  away  to  the  village  and  when  he  came 
back,  he  talked  mysteriously  to  Aunt  Soscha  for  a  few 
moments.  *'That's  quite  right,"  Aunt  Soscha  had  said. 
However,  the  farewell  ride  on  Tarenka  was  spoiled  for 
Olga  because  Aunt  Soscha  and  a  groom  from  the  stables 
went  along.  Soscha  could  not  understand  why  Olga  should 
suddenly  lose  enthusiasm. 

n 

The  next  morning  a  small  figure  might  have  been  seen 
scrambling  up  the  trunk  of  a  pine  tree  which  lifted  its 
branches  past  the  windows  of  the  northeast  comer  of  the 
house.  On  a  level  with  the  sill,  the  young  climber  peered 
in  where  Olga's  sleeping  figure  seemed  only  a  tiny  island 
in  a  sea  of  bedclothes,  with  a  canopy  of  heavy  curtains. 

Then  the  heavy  branch  of  the  tree  rubbed  back  and 
forth  across  the  glass.  Needles  and  twigs  scratched  and 
rasped  in  a  grating  monotone  that  at  last  awakened  the 
child,  who  sat  upright,  rubbing  her  eyes.     As  the  noise 


A  Bird  of  Passage  36 

ceased,  a  white  face  appeared  at  the  window.  Olga  gave 
a  little  gasp  of  astonishment,  but  recognizing  her  visitor 
slipped  out  of  bed  and  went  to  the  window.  By  dint  of 
tugging  and  pushing,  she  loosened  the  catch  so  that  the 
big  panes,  stiff  in  their  frames,  opened  outward,  inch  by 
inch.  Then  Marya  climbed  up  a  foot  or  more  beyond  the 
window  and  swung  down  by  a  heavy  branch  toward  the 
opening.  She  pawed  about  to  get  a  footing  on  the  sill, 
and  feeling  her  feet  firmly  grounded  at  last,  let  go  of  the 
branch  and  jumped  into  the  room. 

"Nichevo,  all  is  weU !"  she  assured  Olga,  after  a  hasty 
glance  through  the  window.  She  swung  it  shut  and  came 
toward  the  center  of  the  room  where  Olga  was  shivering 
with  excitement  and  hugging  herself.  "Get  back  into  bed 
and  I'll  tell  you  why  I  came."  She  sat  on  the  floor  beside 
the  bed. 

*'Get  up  here  beside  me,"  commanded  Olga.  "It'll  be 
better." 

*'Uh,  uh !  No !  I  might  get  caught,  and  my  feet  are 
too  dirty  to  put  on  the  beautiful  covers."  Marya 
smoothed  the  quilted  satin  hesitatingly.  "If  anyone  comes 
now,  I  can  do  this."  She  clasped  arms  around  her  knees, 
and  with  one  quick  motion  rolled  from  sight  under  the 
bed. 

—  Olga  laughed  and  leaned  over  the  edge.    "That's  funny. 
But  come  out  and  tell  me  why  you  came  here." 

"They've  taken  Feodor  away  to  prison  at  Pskov,"  she 
announced,  tersely.  "Father  told  my  mother  night  before 
last,  but  I  couldn't  get  away  to  tell  you.  I  was  hiding  in 
the  copse  when  you  rode  by  yesterday.  A  grand  lady  was 
tith  you  and  you  didn't  stop." 


86  A  Bird  of  Passage 

"That  was  my  Aunt  Soscha.  She's  going  to  take  me  to 
Vienna  for  good.  This  afternoon  we're  going.  I  was 
afraid  I  wouldn't  see  you  again.  Is  your  mother  all 
right? 

"And  what  about  Feodor?  Is  he  really  in  a  prison? 
When  did  he  go?" 

"The  master  had  the  starosta  be  judge  but  he  said  just 
what  he  had  been  told  to  say.  That  was  how  my  father 
could  be  a  witness." 

"What  could  your  father  say?"  Olga  drew  her  knees 
up  and  sat  hugging  them. 

"He  laughed  in  my  mother's  face  the  other  night  and 
boasted  about  what  a  man  he  was.  He  had  told  a  fine 
story  for  the  starosta  to  hear.  He  said  he  had  found  the 
master  struggling  with  that  wretch,  Feodor.  The  tables 
and  chairs  were  knocked  over  and  there  had  been  a  bad 
fight.  He  said  he  hit  Feodor  and  got  the  stolen  money 
away  from  him." 

"Oh,  Marya !  That  was  a  lie !"  exclaimed  Olga,  tensely. 
**There  wasn't  any  fight  at  all.  Feodor  was  as  gentle  as 
could  be.    But  what  else  did  your  father  say?" 

"The  starosta  seemed  awfully  afraid,  my  father  said. 
He  gave  the  sentence  in  a  weak  little  voice.  Feodor  got 
sent  to  the  prison  for  fifteen  years." 

"Isn't  that  dreadful?"  whispered  Olga.  "I  wish  we 
could  do  something.    Where  is  Feodor's  mother?" 

"She  was  at  the  trial  and  cried,  *My  son!  Save  my 
son !  He  didn't  steal !'  But  the  starosta  frowned  and 
said  to  put  her  out  because  she  disturbed  them.  My 
father  laughed  when  he  told  how  they  pushed  and  jostled 
her  from  the  room.     She  didn't  even  say  good-bye  to 


A  Bird  of  Passage  87 

Feodor  when  they  took  him  away.  He  cried,  *Mother! 
Mother !'  like  that,  when  they  pushed  her  out ;  but  he  got 
shoved  back  on  the  bench," 

The  two  children  stared  at  each  other,  solemn-eyed. 

"I'll  give  you  some  things,"  said  Olga,  finally.  *'You 
must  help  Feodor's  mother,  too.  I'll  never  forget  him  as 
long  as  I  live,  but  I  can't  very  well  help  him  when  I'm 
going  away.  If  you  stay  here,  we  ought  to  have  a  sign 
between  us,  so  that  if  you  ever  need  help  from  me,  or  if 
I  want  to  give  you  a  message  we'll  know  by  the  sign." 

Marya  looked  at  the  soft  brown  hair,  with  its  tints  of 
coppery  gold,  tumbling  about  Olga's  face.  "I  can  plait 
hair  into  rings,"  she  ventured. 

"Can  you?"  answered  Olga  in  delight.  "Gret  those 
scissors  on  my  tray,  and  cut  a  piece  of  my  hair  and  a 
piece  of  yours.  You  make  two  rings,  and  wear  the  one 
made  out  of  my  hair  and  I'll  wear  yours.  Then  if  I  ever 
send  my  ring  to  you,  you'll  know  that  what  comes  with  it 
is  really  and  truly  from  me;  and  if  you  ever  want  any- 
thing, send  your  ring  with  the  message  and  I'll  know  it's 
true." 

Olga  bent  her  head  while  Marya  cut,  with  fingers  tremb- 
ling from  excitement,  a  thick  strand  of  the  shining  hair. 
Then  she  loosened  the  dun-colored  braid  that  swung  to  her 
waist  and  bent  her  head  for  Olga  to  cut  a  chunk  out  of 
its  coarser  lengths.  Just  as  Marya  raised  her  head,  there 
was  a  sound  of  footsteps  in  the  corridor. 

"Quick,  you  must  hide,"  said  Olga.  "That's  Sophia 
with  my  breakfast." 

"Give  me  all  that  hair  and  the  scissors,"  whispered 
Marya.     "I'll  make  the  rings  before  I  go."     She  rolled 


38  A  Bird  of  Passage 

from   sight   under   the  bed   just    as   the   door    opened. 

When  Sophia  entered,  expecting  to  waken  the  child,  it 
took  her  experienced  eye  but  a  few  minutes  to  note  that 
something  untoward  had  occurred  in  the  room.  In  the  bed 
Olga  was  making  a  valiant  attempt  to  feign  sleep,  but  the 
rumpled  bed-clothes  and  her  general  air  of  conscious- 
ness, charging  the  atmosphere,  told  a  story  of  restlessness 
or  disturbance. 

"Come,  come,"  Sophia  said,  **what  has  been  going  on 
here.?  Fraulein  Olga,  what's  the  matter.''  You  aren't 
asleep.     What  has  happened?** 

Olga's  tousled  head  came  up  from  the  pillow  with  such 
a  haggard  expression  in  the  bright  eyes  and  such  a  flush 
of  color  on  her  cheeks  that  Sophia  knew  her  suspicions 
were  reasonable. 

"Did  you  have  another  bad  dream,  you  poor  child?"  she 
said  soothingly,  coming  to  feel  the  smooth  young  forehead 
for  a  touch  of  fever.  Finding  none,  she  gazed  at  Olga 
perplexedly.     "Do  you  want  to  stay  in  bed  for  a  while?*' 

"No,  I  want  to  get  right  up  and  get  dressed,"  ex- 
claimed Olga,  thrusting  her  bare  feet  out  of  bed.  "What 
have  you  got  for  my  breakfast  ?    I'm  hungry." 

"Nice  porridge  with  cream,  and  some  bread,  and  a  cup 
of  milk.    But  you  must  eat  your  breakfast  there  in  bed.'* 

"I  want  some  fruit  to  eat,'*  said  the  child,  petulantly. 
*'Go  and  get  me  an  orange.    I  want  an  orange.'* 

"Why,  Fraulein  Olga !  How  you  talk !  You*re  so  cross 
this  morning.  You  must  be  good  and  sweet,  for  Madame 
Soscha  wants  to  see  you  just  as  soon  as  you're  dressed." 

"Well!  I'll  get  dressed  some  time  if  you'll  go  awaj' 
and   get   me    an   orange.      I    want    you    to    go    away.** 


A  Bird  of  Passage  39 

*'Now  look  here,"  said  Sophia  sternly.  "You're  in  a 
temper.  Where  are  your  manners,  I'd  like  to  know,'*  What 
would  happen  to  you  in  Vienna  if  you  talked  like  this?" 

To  Sophia's  consternation,  Olga  threw  herself  violently 
back  on  the  bed  and  began  to  cry  softly  as  though  she 
were  hurt,  not  with  the  noisy  outbursts  that  come  from 
temper.  Hearing  the  piteous  sobs,  Sophia  was  at  her  wits' 
end.  Here  was  no  illness  that  she  could  discover,  and  no 
nastiness  of  disposition.  She  patted  the  bowed  head  and 
smoothed  the  silky  hair  until  at  last  the  sobbing  ceased. 

"There,  there,  little  white  dove,  be  quiet !  I  will  tuck 
you  in  here  in  the  big  bed  again  and  go  get  you  an  orange 
the  way  you  like  it  best.  A  fresh  one  peeled,  with  sweet 
honey  sauce  poured  over  it  and  crisp  little  pieces  of 
sugared  peel  on  top,  the  thin  pieces  of  sweetmeat  cook 
keeps  for  company  tea.     How  would  you  like  that?" 

Olga  lay  submissively  on  the  pillow,  and  presently 
Sophia  left  the  bedside  and  went  about  the  room  on  one 
pretext  or  another.  Olga's  eyes  closed  and  she  seemed 
to  sleep. 

But  when  Sophia  had  tiptoed  from  the  room,  Olga  sat 
up.  For  a  time  she  waited  to  be  sure  that  her  nurse 
would  not  return,  then  she  slipped  quickly  out  of  bed  and 
stooped  to  call  under  the  flouncings,  "Come  out,  now,  at 
once." 

Marya's  head  was  thrust  out  for  a  cautious  survey  be- 
fore she  scrambled  blinking  into  the  light.  Olga  took  her 
hand  and  drew  her  to  the  small  table  across  the  room. 

"Here!  You  hurry  and  eat  this  porridge!"  she  said 
imperiously.  "Put  the  bread  in  your  pocket  for  your 
mother.    Eat  while  I  get  something  for  you." 


40  A  Bird  of  Passage 

Nothing  loathe  to  warm  her  famished  stomach  with 
porridge  and  cream,  Marya  slid  into  the  chair  and  began 
to  eat.  The  savour  of  the  food  tickled  her  nostrils  and 
she  forgot  all  else  in  the  satisfaction  of  her  hunger.  Mean- 
while Olga  had  been  burrowing  industriously  into  the  bot- 
tom of  a  drawer  in  the  big  wardrobe,  and  returned  pres- 
ently with  a  little  purse. 

"Here,"  she  said,  thrusting  it  into  Marya's  pocket, 
**that*s  the  money  I  was  given  last  fete  day.  I've  been 
saving  it,  but  you  must  see  that  Feodor's  mother  gets  it. 
You  had  the  other  money,  so  you  give  this  to  her."  Like 
an  obedient  animal  Marya  made  no  protest,  and  between 
spoonfuls  of  porridge  only  felt  in  her  pocket  to  make  cer- 
tain that  both  bread  and  the  purse  were  there.  Olga  was 
back  at  the  wardrobe,  hauling  out  some  thick  dresses. 

*'You  must  take  these,  too,"  she  gasped.  "My  aunt 
says  I'm  not  to  wear  these  clothes  because  they're  not 
stylish  enough  for  Vienna;  but  they'll  be  good  for  you. 
Tell  your  mother  you  found  them  on  the  highroad.  I  wish 
I  had  something  for  her,  too." 

Olga  straightened  abruptly  and  went  to  the  bureau, 
where  she  picked  up  a  carved  wooden  box.  Fumbling  in 
her  haste  and  nervousness,  at  last  she  pressed  an  invisible 
spring  which  released  the  cover,  and  peering  in,  drew  forth 
two  heavy  silver  images,  a  massive  silver  ring,  and  some 
fine  gold  chains. 

"Didn't  you  say  that  there  was  a  man  in  the  village, 
Rindskoff,  who  would  buy  things  from  you?  You'll  be 
safe  if  you  take  these  to  him.  Only  save  one  of  the  silver 
images  for  your  mother.  Tell  her  who  sent  it,  and  keep 
it  a  secret  between  you  two." 


A  Bird  of  Passage  41 

Marya  drew  the  back  of  her  hand  across  her  mouth  in 
token  that  the  last  bit  of  porridge  and  the  last  drop  of 
milk  had  disappeared  and  that  she  was  free  to  devote  her 
attention  to  other  affairs. 

"While  I  was  under  the  bed  I  plaited  the  rings,''  she 
said.    "Here's  yours.    Does  it  fit?" 

"Oh !  I  didn't  think  you  could  work  under  there .''  I'd 
have  been  scared,  with  Sophia  in  the  room." 

*'I  was  afraid,  but  I  wanted  to  get  them  done."  Marya 
slipped  the  httle  circlet  of  braided  hair  over  Olga's  finger. 
On  her  own  grimy  hand  a  band  gleamed  with  its  streaks 
of  copper  color. 

"Now  we  will  swear  never  to  forget  Feodor,"  said  Olga. 
"Put  your  other  hand  on  my  ring  and  I'll  put  mine  on 
yours  while  we  say  a  solemn  oath. 

"In  the  name  of  God  and  Our  Lady,  I  promise  to  re- 
member and  help  Feodor !"  Slowly  after  Olga,  Marya 
repeated  the  words.     "Bog  Zneat,  God  knows." 

"You  must  go  before  Sophia  comes  back.  Put  the  little 
things  in  your  pocket  and  I'll  throw  the  clothes  out  to 
you.    Hurry !" 

"My  pocket  won't  hold  all  the  silver  and  the  purse, 
too.  I'll  put  the  things  in  my  kerchief."  She  unfastened 
the  shabby  neckcloth  that  served  also  as  a  shawl.  Of  the 
bread,  purse,  and  jewelry  she  made  a  bundle  and  slung  it 
over  her  arm.  The  two  children  were  grave  with  the  im- 
portance of  the  moment. 

"I  shall  never  forget  you,"  said  Olga,  earnestly.  *'If 
I  never  see  you  any  more  I  hope  you  won't  forget  me. 
And  I  hope  you'll  always  be  very  good  to  your  mother." 

Almost  Marya  could  match  her  for  dignity,  but  Olga's 


42  A  Bird  of  Passage 

serious  face  overawed  her  and  she  began  to  snivel.  Fall- 
ing on  her  knees,  she  kissed  the  hem  of  the  long,  white 
nightgown  that  wrapped  itself  about  Olga's  feet. 

"Hurry,  Marya!  You  must  go,"  said  Olga,  bending 
down  to  her. 

Once  on  the  window  sill,  Marya  took  the  bundle  in  her 
teeth  and  choosing  a  strong  branch  a  foot  below  the  win- 
dow, jumped  for  the  big  tree,  where  she  landed  safely  with 
a  prodigious  swishing  of  needles  and  swaying  of  small 
branches.  She  scrambled  down  the  trunk,  while  Olga 
tossed  out  the  dresses,  tightly  rolled  together.  As  long 
as  Marya  was  in  sight  Olga  stood  at  the  window,  but  at 
last  she  pulled  the  long  panes  together  and  turned  toward 
the  table.  Footsteps  resounded  along  the  corridor  and 
she  had  only  time  to  slide  into  the  chair  and  pick  up  the 
empty  cup  when  Sophia  appeared. 

"Couldn't  you  stay  in  bed?"  she  demanded  gently.  **You 
shouldn't  have  been  sitting  here  without  any  more  clothes 
on  than  your  nightdress.  Your  skin  is  cold."  She  felt 
the  child's  cheek.  "But  you've  eaten  all  the  porridge  and 
that  will  make  you  warm.  I'm  glad  you've  eaten  so  much 
of  it.    And  here's  the  nice  orange  for  a  treat." 

"Thank  you,  Sophia." 

The  maid,  watching  Olga  begin  to  eat  the  orange  with 
apparent  appetite,  wondered  how  the  child  could  be  so 
hungry  after  having  had  her  porridge. 

"It  feels  as  cool  in  here,"  she  thought,  "as  though  the 
window  had  been  open." 


CHAPTER  ni 


At  the  age  of  fourteen  Olga  was  given  over  for  spirit- 
ual, mental  and  bodily  guidance  into  the  hands  of  the  Do- 
minican Sisters,  whose  convent  was  a  part  of  the  great 
"Dominikaner"  square  of  buildings  not  far  from  the  east- 
em  segment  of  the  Ringstrasse, — Stubenring, — ^in  Vienna. 
Imperial  patronage  had  made  the  Kloster  a  beautiful  lit- 
tle Eternal  City  in  miniature,  sufficient  unto  itself.  The 
number  of  pupils  was  limited  so  that  the  quadrangles  and 
gardens  offered  plenty  of  space  for  daily  exercise.  Occa- 
sionally the  girls  were  taken  through  the  more  quiet  streets 
to  visit  the  parks  about  the  Hofburg,  or  to  walk  sedately 
through  the  galleries  of  the  Imperial  Museum;  and  there 
were  delicious  intervals  when  a  relative  would  drive  over  to 
take  one  shopping  in  the  Kartnerstrasse  and  the  Graben, 
or  riding  along  the  Prater  at  the  fashionable  hour,  or  to 
watch  a  ceremony  at  court.  For  the  gentle  sisters  with 
their  professed  object  of  "teaching  the  children  of  the 
upper  classes"  were  not  to  forget  entirely  that  their  young 
charges  would  some  day  belong  to  the  world  and  to  the 
court  circle.  Olga  was  intensely  excited  over  her  intro- 
duction into  this  new  life.  It  was  altogether  unlike  the 
school  in  Berlin,  for  underneath  the  routine  and  discipline 
of  the  convent,  soothing  and  restraining  the  susceptible 
and  ardent  young  beings  within  its  walls,  there  was  that 

43 


44>  A  Bird  of  Passage 

occasional  prophetic  glimpse  of  Life  with  a  large  L,  to 
make  the  school  period  seem  only  one  of  probation.  In 
Berlin  one  had  always  that  overpowering  sense  of  The 
State,  which  meant  the  Emperor;  even  little  girls  in 
school  existed  only  for  The  State.  But  the  Austrians 
were  very  naive  in  their  complete  absorption  of  the  joys 
of  living,  to  which  a  woman  was  tacitly  admitted  on  a 
basis  of  equal  privilege.  In  Austria,  as  elsewhere,  there 
was  power  in  a  woman  when  there  was  charm  or  wit; 
and  happily  most  of  the  women,  particularly  in  the  court 
circle,  were  exceedingly  charming  and  witty.  So  Olga 
entered  the  Kloster  with  young  and  tender  descendants  of 
the  Coburgs,  Windishgraetz,  Lichtensteins,  Auerspergs, 
and  other  well  known  Austrian  families.  Against  an  equip- 
ment gathered  through  centuries  of  assured  rule,  she  had 
her  child's  supreme  innocence  and  the  memory  of  a  great 
wrong  for  which  she  had  in  part  been  responsible. 

She  was  naturally  a  devout  child  and  the  contemplative 
phase  of  the  Sisters'  life  made  an  impression  upon  her. 
She  loved  the  preparations  for  divine  services,  for  special 
days  observed  by  the  Dominican  order.  The  girls  were 
each  given  little  cell-like  rooms  of  their  own,  and  Olga 
soon  obtained  permission  to  fashion  a  sort  of  altar  in  one 
comer  of  her  domain.  There  was  a  candle  and  her  prayer- 
book,  a  reliquary  that  had  been  her  mother's,  a  rosary  of 
curiously  shaped  silver  beads,  and  an  image  of  the  Christ 
Child  of  Prague,  that  quaint  Slavonic  madonna-figure. 
Had  Olga  been  a  prioress  or  an  abbess  of  old,  she  could 
scarcely  have  guarded  sacred  vessels  with  more  zealous 
care.  And  having  the  altar,  she  developed  little  rituals 
of  her  own,  including  a  special  prayer  for  Feodor.    Away 


A  Bird  of  Passage  46 

from  Russia,  never  seeing  Marja  any  more,  her  thoughts 
could  not  help  but  be  drawn  toward  her  new  life ;  yet  there 
remained  memory  to  bring  back  vivid  pictures,  and  the 
words  of  her  vow  that  she  would  not  forget  Feodor. 

"Mother  of  Jesus,"  she  would  pray,  kneeling  before  the 
silver  image  after  the  silent  hours  of  night  had  scattered 
the  little  community  to  individual  meditation.  "Mother 
of  Jesus,  hear  me  for  the  sake  of  Thy  Son!  Intercede 
\^'ith  Thy  Son  for  the  sake  of  another  mother  whose  son 
suffers  without  guilt! 

"Holy  Mother!  Go  to  Feodor  in  the  prison  and  com- 
fort him.  Comfort  his  mother,  too.  Help  him  to  be 
patient !  Help  him  to  be  free !  I  will  pray  for  him  al- 
ways, and  say  a  special  prayer  on  his  fete  day,  for  his 
mother's  sake.  It  was  our  fault,  my  family's  fault,  and 
I  must  help  him."  Solemnly  completing  her  devotions 
with  the  sign  of  the  cross,  she  would  rise  from  her  knees 
and  climb  into  bed. 

With  this  somewhat  dramatic  ending,  each  day  of  the 
school  year  slipped  by  uneventfully.  Gradually  Olga  was 
becoming  familiar  with  the  expressions  of  Austrian  life, 
becoming  better  acquainted  with  her  fellow-scholars  in  the 
convent.  Did  young  Wolfgang  von  Lichtenstein  fall  from 
his  bicycle  while  riding  in  the  Prater  and  injure  his  knee, 
Olga  had  the  news  in  confidence  from  Emelie,  Wolfgang's 
cousin,  and  one  of  her  pew-mates  in  chapel.  Did  Maria 
Schwarzenberg's  older  sister  begin  a  new  "affair"  with  a 
young  man  in  the  Italian  embassy,  of  all  places,  Olga  knew 
just  what  the  family  had  said  about  the  matter  during 
Maria's  last  brief  visit  at  home.  So  Olga  learned  to  tell 
a  vivid  story  in  her  turn.     Aunt  Soscha's  position  in  the 


46  A  Bird  of  Passage 

Archduchess  Valerie's  suite  furnished  many  a  bit  of  news 
which  would  have  scandalized  the  Sisters,  had  they  dreamed 
that  one  of  their  charges  was  repeating  sub  rosa  the  latest 
advances  of  the  Count  Lonyay,  the  Crown  Princess  Ste- 
phanie's lover,  scarcely  comprehending  the  import  of  the 
words  she  said. 

Thus  was  one  prepared  for  life ! 


Olga  had  acquired  at  least  one  enemy  among  the  girls, 
black-eyed  Theresa  Haugwitz,  representative  of  that  fam- 
ily which  has  its  kinsman,  Haugwitz,  the  jurist,  immortal- 
ized as  a  figure  in  the  composition  of  the  Maria  Theresa 
monument  which  gives  a  name  to  the  platz  opposite  the 
Burgtor.  It  was  one  of  those  antagonisms  which  nature 
creates  and  establishes  but  does  not  explain ;  and  its  foun- 
dation was  doubtless  in  the  contrast  between  Olga's  bright, 
sparkling  good  looks  and  Theresa's  less  attractive  swarthi- 
ness.  Nor  had  Theresa  the  financial  inheritance  which 
would  be  Olga's.  Altogether  there  were  plenty  of  reasons 
for  breeding  discontent  in  a  jealous  mind.  Olga  was  more 
or  less  unconscious  of  Theresa's  attitude,  although  she  had 
a  vague  feeling  that  she  was  not  a  favorite  with  the  other 
girl ;  and  meanwhile  Theresa  bided  her  time. 

One  afternoon,  taking  a  somewhat  sacrilegious  "short 
cut"  to  the  quadrangle  through  the  dim  and  deserted  cha- 
pel, Theresa  saw  a  freshly  lighted  candle  flickering  before 
a  tiny  shrine  at  the  extreme  right  of  the  nave.  Spring 
sunshine  filtering  through  the  windows  in  that  moment  en- 
abled her  to  discern  a  figure  kneeling  at  the  shrine.  A 
familiar   and   detested    figure — the   little   Russian,    von 


A  Bird  of  Passage  47 

Kranz !  For  it  was  Feodor's  fete  da j  and  true  to  her  vow, 
Olga  was  saying  a  prayer  for  him. 

Theresa  went  quietly  and  cautiously  from  pillar  to  pil- 
lar, drawing  always  nearer  to  the  kneeling  suppliant.  She 
had  no  scruples  about  this  sort  of  thing,  and  as  she  lis- 
tened words  came  gradually  to  her  through  the  silence.  So 
much  was  Olga  putting  into  her  petition  that  Theresa, 
her  keen  mind  hate-sharpened,  began  to  see  a  complete 
story  and  not  a  little  mystery  spreading  out  before  her. 
"Thou  knowest  it  was  my  fault,"  "Go  to  Feodor  in  the 
prison"  and  similar  phrases  purred  sweetly  in  her  ears. 
Here  was  a  weapon  ready  to  her  hand !  Without  waiting 
to  hear  more,  Theresa  slipped  noiselessly  away  and  out 
into  the  quadrangle,  where  she  lost  little  time  in  gathering 
about  her  a  faithful  few  whom  she  knew  would  readily  turn 
against  Olga  if  given  sufficient  motive. 

In  a  sunny  comer  a  half  dozen  girls  sat  grouped  as 
though  busy  with  their  lessons,  their  heads  bent  over  a 
book.  But  in  reahty  they  were  listening  eagerly  to 
Theresa's  whispered  news. 

"I've  just  heard  the  most  awful  thing  about  Olga  von 
Kranz,"  she  had  said  abruptly.  "She's  got  most  of  her 
family  in  prison  all  because  of  something  she  did  to  send 
them  there.  She's  in  the  chapel  all  alone  now,  praying 
before  a  new  candle  she's  lighted.  Probably  praying  to 
save  the  souls  of  her  family." 

"Are  you  sure?"  asked  a  slender  girl  whose  pale  face 
was  framed  in  a  marvelous  aura  of  auburn  curls.  "Did 
you  really  hear  her  praying.?" 

"Of  course  I  did.  I  was  coming  through  the  chapel 
myself  and  I  couldn't  help  but  hear  her.    It  was  so  quiet. 


48  A  Bird  of  Passage 

She  said  something  about  somebody  named  Feodor  who  is 
in  prison  and  about  how  it  was  all  her  fault.  Why,  she  may 
be  dangerous  to  the  Empire !  She  may  be  a  Russian  spy, 
and  that  'Feodor*  may  have  been  put  in  prison  for  a 
political  offense.  I've  almost  a  mind  to  tell  my  uncle, 
the  advocate,  so  they  can  watch  Olga  and  her  aunt  more 
closely.    It's  positively  dangerous." 

"Well,  I'm  certainly  not  going  to  have  anything  to  do 
with  a  Russian  spy,"  said  Louise  Erzthaler,  the  pale, 
auburn-haired  one.  *'You  know  how  the  Emperor  hates 
and  fears  the  Russians," 

"We  ought  to  form  a  society,  or  something,"  said 
Theresa,  "and  make  it  our  business  to  watch  what  she 
does,  so  if  we  suspect  anything  we  can  report  it  at  home." 

"Yes !  Yes !"  chorused  the  girls.  "It  would  be  too  excit- 
ing for  worlds  to  have  a  secret  society.  Let^s  form  it 
now,  just  ourselves!" 

"What  shall  we  call  it.?"  asked  Marcellene  Sternau,  a 
silly  little  thing  who  giggled  at  the  proposed  plan  and 
seemed  to  regard  it  as  highly  amusing.  And  the  half- 
dozen  heads  bent  even  closer  together  to  discuss  their 
delectable  scheme. 

Within  two  weeks  the  most  alarming  and  exciting 
rumors  imaginable  had  spread  among  the  girls.  Olga 
von  Kranz's  brother  had  been  imprisoned  for  killing  an 
Austrian  in  Russia  who  had  been  disloyal  to  the  govern- 
ment of  the  Czar.  Olga  had  been  sent  to  Vienna  to  grow 
up  there  and  spy  on  the  Austrians  that  she  might  revenge 
her  family.  "Feodor"  was  the  name  of  the  brother,  and 
there  was  also  a  girl  named  "Marya,"  the  sister  of  the 
dead  Austrian,  in  love  with  Feodor,  and  therefore  disloyal 


A  Bird  of  Passage  49 

to  Austria.  Quite  a  tangle,  and  a  dangerous  one!  Olga 
heard  little  or  nothing  of  this.  She  only  knew  that  a 
great  many  of  the  girls  no  longer  seemed  to  want  her  with 
them  during  recreation  periods;  that  they  gathered  in 
groups  by  themselves  and  watched  her  furtively,  and  that 
they  had  a  mysterious  topic  for  discussion  of  which  she 
knew  nothing.  At  last,  after  a  fortnight,  Emelie  von 
Lichtenstein  came  with  news.  Emelie  was  somewhat  older 
than  Olga,  and  when  this  definite  crisis  arose,  at  once 
assumed  the  role  of  her  outspoken  champion. 

"Oh,  Emelie!  Would  you  believe  me  if  I  told  you  a 
story.''      Told  you  the  truth  about  all  this?" 

"Of  course  I'd  believe  you." 

As  Olga  leaned  forward,  a  tense,  earnest  figure  in  her 
dark  convent  clothes,  her  eyes  shining  with  purpose, 
Emehe  remembered  a  day  when  she  had  stood  beside  a 
monument  in  the  Alps  where  was  marked  the  path  of  those 
little  martyrs  of  the  "Children's  Crusade" ;  from  the  light 
in  Olga's  eyes,  she  might  have  been  one  of  those  same 
trusting,  inspired  youths  who  had  found  a  cause. 

On  an  impulse  Emelie  put  both  arms  around  the  younger 
girl  and  drew  her  close.  "LiebcJien,  armes  liehchen,"  she 
murmured.  "It  was  dreadful,  wasn't  it?  I'm  going  to 
tell  some  of  the  girls,  Meran  Postling,  and  one  or  two 
others,  that  I  know  the  real  truth.  They'll  trust  me  and 
believe  in  you.  So  you'll  have  somebody  to  protect  you 
and  take  your  part." 

m 

About  this  same  time,  Soscha  Hohenwald  dis- 
covered that  a  certain  amount  of  current  gossip  was  being 


60  A  Bird  of  Passage 

directed  toward  her.  A  surprising  number  of  people  had 
suddenly  become  definitely  interested  in  asking  after  the 
welfare  of  her  young  niece,  who  was  '*bom  in  Russia, 
wasn't  she?"  Soscha  said  nothing,  but  thought  a  great 
deal;  she  had  no  one  to  whom  she  might  safely  go  for 
information,  and  it  was  significant  that  the  Countess 
Dericote,  who  might  have  helped  her,  a  gentle  brown 
wraith  who  had  her  own  place  about  the  court  despite 
the  fact  that  she  was  known  to  be  a  Russian  by  birth, 
had  left  Vienna  for  the  Tyrol,  though  the  summer  season 
had  not  yet  begun.  But  one  sunshiny  morning  when  the 
trees  were  green  with  tender,  new  leaves,  Soscha  met  the 
Princess  Julie  Auersperg  in  a  florist  shop  on  the  Ring- 
strasse.  Julie  and  she  were  very  good  friends,  valuing 
each  other's  regard,  nevertheless  speaking  their  minds  on 
all  matters  with  almost  masculine  frankness.  Julie  had 
been  home  from  Paris  only  a  week,  and  this  was  their 
first  meeting,  while  she  was  intent  on  the  choice  of  an 
enormous  bunch  of  fragrant  violets.  It  had  not  been  quite 
good  form  to  select  these  flowers  for  a  long  time  after  the 
death  of  the  Crown  Prince  Rudolph,  whose  ill-fated  com- 
panion in  death  had  gone  directly  from  the  purchase  of  a 
corsage  of  violets  in  this  very  shop  to  the  fatal  rendez- 
vous at  Meyerling. 

*'Do  you  still  want  to  wear  those  dreadful  flowers?"  in- 
quired Soscha.  "Leblanc  has  no  delicacy,  it  seems  to  me, 
to  sell  them." 

"My  dear  Soscha,"  answered  Julie  gayly,  "why  make 
the  whole  world  of  violet-lovers  in  Vienna  suffer  because 
of  a  mere  coincidence  ?  Besides,  that's  in  the  past  anyway. 
Poor  Rudi's  mother  can't  be  hurt  now  by  idle  gossip  nor 


A  Bird  of  Passage  61 

even  by  the  sight  of  these  innocent  little  flowers."  She 
stopped  speaking,  and  looked  speculatively  at  Soscha. 
"Idle  gossip,"  she  repeated.     "Hm!  I  wonder!" 

"You  wonder  what?"  said  Soscha.  "Have  you  heard 
anything.''  For  heaven's  sake,  don't  you  ask  me  how  Olga 
is." 

"Oh !  You  have  an  idea,"  replied  Julie.  "Hm !  Have 
you  time  to  come  for  a  little  drive  with  me.f*" 

Julie's  brougham  rolled  smoothly  out  the  Kartner- 
strasse  and  the  Rotenturm,  toward  the  general  direction 
of  the  Prater,  while  the  Princess  lost  no  time  in  putting 
the  rumors  before  the  astonished  Soscha.  It  was  the  same 
story, — of  this  relative  of  Olga's  in  prison,  of  suspicion 
pointing  toward  Olga  as  a  Russian  spy, — ^just  as  it  had 
been  told  by  the  girls  in  the  convent.  But  there  were 
elaborations  and  theories,  developed  by  older  members  of 
families  in  which  the  story  had  circulation. 

"I  really  think  it's  time  to  step  in  and  settle  this," 
concluded  Julie.  "You  know  how  high  feeling  may  run  in 
just  a  little  while.  And  the  Emperor  has  no  sympathy 
for  the  Russians,  to  put  it  mildly."  Soscha  regarded  her 
with  blue  eyes  pale  and  cold  as  a  winter  sky,  her  lips  set 
in  a  hard  line. 

"It's  perfectly  ridiculous,"  she  burst  out.  "You  said 
the  name  of  this  *relative'  was  Feodor?  I  can  see  how  the 
story  started,  but  it's  preposterous,  really.  You're  quite 
right.  It's  time  for  me  to  step  in,  if  it  isn't  too  late." 
Soscha  was  a  person  to  act  qxiickly.  **Will  you  come  with 
me  to  the  convent  now.'"'  she  asked.  **I'm  going  to  take 
Olga  out  of  there." 

The  Sisters  were  in  a  gentle  flutter  of  alarm  at  this 


52  A  Bird  of  Passage 

unexpected  visit  from  the  court  ladies,  and  the  determina- 
tion in  Soscha's  eyes  meant  that  her  errand  was  not  plea- 
sure. She  plunged  at  once  into  an  interview  with  the 
Mother  Superior,  and  found  that  good  lady  utterly  ig- 
norant of  disturbance  within  the  walls. 

"Your  niece  is  a  good  child,'*  she  said  gently.  "A  trifle 
exuberant  in  her  spirit  sometimes,  but  very  devout.  She 
has  a  little  altar  in  her  room  and  not  many  weeks  ago 
she  asked  permission  to  bum  a  candle  for  a  poor  man,  a 
friend  of  your  family,  I  believe  she  said."  Soscha  sent  a 
triumphant  glance  toward  Julie ! 

"Could  we  be  permitted  to  visit  Olga's  room.'*"  she  in- 
quired.   "I  should  like  to  see  the  altar." 

"The  little  girls  are  having  an  embroidery  lesson.  We 
need  not  disturb  them,  if  you  will  come  with  me." 

It  was  true,  that  part  of  the  story  then,  Soscha  found, 
looking  at  the  makeshift  shrine.  Was  Olga  going  to  be 
a  religious  fanatic?  she  asked  herself.  Just  when  Soscha 
could  give  her  advantages,  and  with  her  money?  Anger, 
fear  and  determination  filled  her  mind,  and  she  could  not 
fathomi  the  loyalty,  tenderness  and  kindly  spirit  which 
the  sight  of  the  rosary  and  the  madonna  brought  to  Julie 
Auersperg,  whose  eyes  filled  with  sympathetic  tears. 

They  returned  through  the  quiet  stone  corridors  to  the 
Mother  Superior's  oflSce.  *'May  I  speak  to  Olga  now?" 
asked  Soscha.  The  demand  in  her  cold  blue  eyes  brooked 
no  refusal,  and  presently  Olga  entered  the  room,  curtsey- 
ing respectfully,  mindful  of  her  manners.  In  her  dark 
dress  she  looked  curiously  subdued,  and  beneath  her  eyes 
were  faint,  purplish  shadows.  Soscha  frowned  involun- 
tarily, and  Julie  longed  to  put  her  arms  about  the  girL 


A  Bird  of  Passage  63 

The  older  women  sat  down  and  motioned  Olga  to  a  chair, 
straight-backed  and  stiff  like  all  the  others  in  the  room. 

"I  understand  you've  been  getting  yourself  into  trou- 
ble," said  Soscha,  abruptly.  *'What  have  you  done,  that 
I  should  have  heard  rumors  of  it  before  I  have  the  truth 
from   you?" 

"It  was  nothing,  Aunt  Soscha,"  faltered  Olga.  "Only 
I  have  prayed  at  a  little  altar  in  my  room,  and  on  Feodor's 
fete  day  I  had  permission  to  bum  a  candle  for  him. 
Emelie  von  Lichtenstein  knows  that  Feodor  isn't  really  a 
relative." 

Soscha  almost  snorted  with  rage;  so  far  as  it  was  pos- 
sible for  a  person  of  her  polite  instincts,  she  was  on  the 
verge  of  giving  way  completely  to  her  fury. 

Olga  looked  at  the  three  women.  Only  Julie  Auersperg 
was  regarding  her  with  a  degree  of  compassion.  The 
Mother  Superior's  face,  ordinarily  so  placid,  was  unduly 
distressed ;  that  this  unfortunate  aiFair  should  have  oc- 
curred in  her  convent,  she  thought,  as  she  endeavored  to 
understand  the  situation.  Aunt  Soscha,  of  course,  was 
furious.  The  time  had  come  to  tell.  Uncle  Michael  was 
in  his  beloved  France,  the  estate  was  no  longer  under  the 
family's  control;  it  would  not  hurt  Marya  nor  Feodor's 
mother  if  she  told. 

So  the  story  came  out,  bit  by  bit,  while  the  three 
looked  on  aghast.  As  they  heard  of  the  adventure  with 
Marya,  and  of  Feodor's  innocence,  of  the  peasants'  fear 
of  Michael  and  the  determination  to  save  Marya's  mother 
from  punishment,  they  looked  at  the  child  with  mingled 
emotions.  Olga  finished  her  story  and  sat  slumped  in  her 
chair;  after  months  of  repression  it  had  taken  all  her 


64  A  Bird  of  Passage 

strength  to  make  this  plea  for  justification.  Had  she 
looked  up  she  might  have  seen  the  Mother  Superior  wip- 
ing away  a  furtive  tear,  while  Julie  Auersperg*s  gray  eyes 
gleamed  with  tenderness.  Even  Soscha  was  affected  by  the 
revelation,  though  her  sensibilities  were  roused  at  the  hint 
of  association  with  peasantry.  There  were  still  lessons  for 
Olga  to  learn,  the  impulses  of  her  heart  must  be  curbed. 
But  Julie  could  no  longer  endure  the  sight  of  this  brave 
child,  uncomforted  and  having  no  word  of  commendation. 

"Come  over  here,  dear,"  she  said,  at  last,  and  looking 
reproachfully  at  Soscha,  drew  Olga  to  a  little  footstool 
beside  her.  "It  was  hard  for  you  to  know  the  right  thing, 
but  I  think  you  were  wise  and  good.  Perhaps  your 
prayers  will  be  answered,  as  they  deserve  to  be." 

"Mother,"  said  Soscha,  "may  I  take  the  child  away 
with  me?  We  three  will  not  repeat  this  story,  even  to 
justify  Olga's  position,  but  I  can't  let  her  stay  here." 

"I  should  make  an  exception  to  almost  any  rule  in  her 
case,"  replied  the  nun. 

So  it  was  speedily  arranged  that  Olga  should  go  with 
her  aunt  to  live  in  the  palace,  where  by  reason  of  a  nor- 
mal life  under  Soscha's  influence  the  odious  rumors  would 
be  dissipated,  and  the  whole  affair  forgotten. 


CHAPTER  IV 


If  Olga  von  Kranz  had  been  less  independent  by  nature, 
her  development  during*  the  next  four  years  would  have 
been  more  to  the  liking  of  her  Aunt  Soscha.  That  good 
lady,  steeped  in  the  atmosphere  of  the  court,  made  a 
fetish  of  form  and  it  caused  her  great  sorrow  to  find  that 
her  niece  was  not  inclined  to  bow  down  and  worship  where 
she  directed.  Ever  since  Olga  had  come  to  live  with  her 
aunt,  and  had  at  first  been  given  some  duty  with  the 
Countess  Trautenau,  Mistress  of  the  Robes,  she  had  shown 
too  little  regard  for  the  time-hallowed  etiquette  so  essen- 
tial to  such  women  as  the  Countess  and  her  aunt.  For 
instance,  she  had  been  just  like  the  townspeople  in  her  at- 
traction for  the  Wachtparade,  the  changing  of  the  guard 
in  the  Franzensplatz  every  noon.  Frequently  she  loitered 
at  the  window,  Hstening  to  the  band,  when  she  should  have 
been  getting  ready  for  luncheon. 

"My  dear  child,"  Soscha  would  say  in  patient  exaspera- 
tion, **can't  you  remember  that  you  are  of  the  court  now.? 
That  you  will  be  invited  to  the  big  military  reviews?  It 
isn't  so  important  for  you  to  be  a  witness  every  time  the 
guard  is  relieved !" 

"But  Aunt  Soscha,  it's  so  interesting!"  Olga  would 
reply.     "The  soldiers  are  so  stiff  and  straight  in  their 

55 


66  A  Bird  of  Passage 

splendid  uniforms.  The  people  are  so  proud  of  them,  and 
they  love  to  hear  the  band." 

"That  makes  no  difference.  It  isn't  your  place  to  pay 
the  slightest  attention.  Please  be  good  enough  to  remem- 
ber that  the  next  time." 

"1*11  try  not  even  to  hear  the  music,"  promised  Olga. 
"I'm  sorry  if  I've  displeased  you.  Truly  I  am."  But 
the  next  week,  Olga  might  be  found  at  a  corridor  window, 
half-concealed  by  the  heavy  curtains,  listening  to  the 
music  and  watching  the  soldiers. 

Thus  it  was  that  one  warm  June  day  Countess  Dericote 
saw  the  girl  as  she  was  going  along  the  hallway.  The 
soft  breeze  through  the  open  window  stirred  Olga's  brown 
hair  as  she  leaned  slightly  over  the  sill  to  look  down  on 
the  platz,  three  stories  below.  The  lady  stopped  short, 
stood  undecided,  made  as  if  to  go  back,  but  stopped  again 
and  looked  at  Olga.  Presently  the  girl  became  conscious 
that  someone  was  watching  her,  and  turning  saw  the 
Countess.  In  a  flash  she  remembered  Aunt  Soscha's  warn- 
ing about  the  Wachtparade.  Now  she  was  in  for  a  scold- 
ing from  Countess  Dericote,  who  would  probably  tell  her 
aunt.  Olga,  determined  to  be  polite  at  least,  essayed  a 
curtsey. 

"There,  there,  child !  Let  us  dispense  with  bowing,  thou 
and  I,  when  we  are  both  come  to  look  at  the  soldiers," 
said  the  lady,  drawing  closer  to  the  window. 

"Oh,  does  Madame  come  to  watch  the  guard,  too?" 
asked  Olga  in  delight.  **Madam  my  aunt  disapproves  of 
my  doing  it,  but  sometimes  I  can't  help  looking  out  when 
I  hear  the  music." 

"Ah,  yes!    Madame  your  aunt!    Well,  she  is  an  older 


A  Bird  of  Passage  67 

woman  than  I,  and  no  doubt  knows  what  is  best  for  young 
things  like  yourself  just  coming  on  in  the  world.  She 
knows  the  court."  Olga  moved  aside  to  make  room  for  the 
Countess  at  the  window.  "It  is  a  pretty  picture,  the 
people  and  the  soldiers  down  there,  nicht  wahr.''" 

"Yes !    They  are  so  interesting,  the  people." 

"You  have  a  sympathy  for  them,  then.'*"  the  Countess 
looked  quizzically  at  her. 

"Everyone  of  them  is  as  human  as  I  am  myself,"  the 
girl  answered.  "It  doesn't  always  seem  right  to  me  that 
some  of  them  should  be  less  considered  than  the  others. 
.  .  .  But  it  isn't  treason  to  talk  like  this."  Countess 
Dericote  made  an  involuntary  gesture  of  reaching  out  to 
touch  Olga's  arm,  withdrawing  her  hand  again  almost  as 
quick  as  thought.  She  smiled  in  her  own  slow  fashion, 
which  Olga  thought  the  sweetest  and  yet  the  saddest  she 
had  ever  seen. 

"No,  I  don't  believe  it  is  treason,  though  I  should  be 
careful  to  whom  I  spoke  as  you  have." 

"I  speak  too  hastily,  I  know.  But  I  have  thought  a 
great  deal  about  what  makes  some  of  us  worthy  to  be 
in  the  palace,  while  others  must  stay  outside  in  the  court- 
yard." 

"Child,  that  is  life!  And  those  down  in  the  courtyard 
are  just  as  happy  as  we.  .  .  .  Hark !  Do  you  hear 
that?"  A  lusty  chorus  of  "Hoch!  Hoch!  Hochr  rose 
from  the  square,  and  looking  out,  they  saw  the  crowd 
waving  and  cheering.  Across  the  platz  in  a  window  of  the 
Imperial  suite,  the  figure  of  white-haired  Francis  Joseph 
was  standing,  looking  benignly  at  his  people. 

"You   see,"    said   the   Countess,   "he   has    finished   his 


58  A  Bird  of  Passage 

simple  lunch  in  his  study.  He  isn't  feeling  so  sad  to-day, 
and  the  people  are  happy  to  see  him  smile  at  them,  if  ever 
so  slightly."  After  a  few  moments  the  Countess  turned 
from  the  window.  "I  must  go,  my  dear,"  and  with  a 
nervous  little  glance  about,  she  kissed  Olga  gently  on  the 
cheek  and  hurried  away  without  looking  back.  The  girl 
gazed  after  her,  with  a  puzzled  frown,  caressing  the  spot 
her  lips  had  touched. 

When  Soscha  heard  of  this  meeting,  through  a  chance 
remark  of  Olga's,  she  expressed  disapproval.  "Why  can't 
you  be  as  nice  to  Otto  von  Lainz  as  you  are  to  the  Countess 
Dericote,  who  ought  to  know  better  than  to  encourage 
you  to  do  things  I  have  forbidden.?  Try  not  to  be  influ- 
enced by  her.  Here's  Otto  fairly  languishing  at  your  feet, 
even  though  you  treat  him  shamefully. 

"I  can  remember  perfectly  when  you  came  here  three 
years  ago.  Otto  knew  all  that  silly  gossip  about  you,  of 
course,  and  he  was  curious  to  see  what  the  *little  Russian 
spy'  looked  like.  You  were  nothing  but  a  child  then,  but 
he  was  fascinated,  as  you  very  well  knew,  though  you  pre- 
tended not  to.  And  now,  in  spite  of  the  disdain  he's 
endured,  he's  asked  my  permission  to  marry  you  and  you 
are  almost  insulting  to  him,  running  away  from  him  every 
chance  you  get." 

"But  Aunt  Soscha,  why  should  I  be  obliged  to  marry 
him?    I  don't  want  to." 

"Don't  be  impertinent,  Olga.  You're  certainly  going 
to  marry  at  some  time,  and  where  could  you  have  better 
prospects?  Otto  is  the  youngest  captain  in  all  the 
cavalry  regiments,  and  he'll  be  promoted  as  rapidly  as 
possible.    He's  likely  to  be  chosen  for  a  diplomatic  post 


A  Bird  of  Passage  59 

some  day  as  well.  And  you  can't  deny  that  he  is  good- 
looking.  He's  coming  to  take  you  driving  this  afternoon, 
and  it  won't  do  you  any  good  to  refuse,  because  I've 
already  made  the  arangement." 

Olga  resigned  herself  to  the  afternoon's  drive.  She 
received  Otto  with  his  customary  tribute  of  flowers  stiffly, 
and  was  obliged  to  sit  holding  the  huge  bouquet  that 
smelled  sickeningly  of  tuberoses  during  the  entire  formal 
drive  with  Aunt  Soscha  beside  her  in  the  carriage  and  Otto 
facing  them.  She  found  little  pleasure  in  bowing  to 
numerous  acquaintances  along  the  Prater  at  this  fashion- 
able hour.  When  Otto  managed  to  send  ardent  glances 
in  Olga's  direction  at  intervals  in  the  idle  chatter 
about  their  mutual  friends,  Olga  was  coldly  irresponsive, 
and  Aunt  Soscha  pretended  not  to  see,  though  Olga  knew 
from  experience  that  she  would  be  called  to  account  after- 
ward for  every  disregarded  sign  of  his  affection. 

Two  or  three  days  later,  in  his  club,  a  fellow  officer 
spoke  to  Otto.  "How's  it  coming  with  the  little  Russian? 
Saw  you  driving  with  her  in  the  Prater  the  other  after- 
noon." 

"She's  more  contrary,  and  got  more  pride  than  all  the 
other  girls  in  Vienna,"  he  replied.  "But  I  don't  mean  to 
give  up.     You  ought  to  know  me  well  enough  for  that." 

"Well,  her  looks  and  her  money  are  worth  going  after. 
And  spirit  in  a  woman  is  all  right,  if  it's  properly  broken. 
I'd  trust  you  to  look  after  that,  too."  It  was  character- 
istic of  Otto  that  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  coolly  and 
took  no  offense  at  his  comrade's  words. 


4 


60  A  Bird  of  Passage 

n 

One  June  morning,  when  Olga  was  about  nineteen  years 
old,  she  was  awakened  as  early  as  five  o'clock  by  the  heavy 
tread  of  soldiery.  Lying  indolently  in  bed,  amid  the  sun- 
light, the  fragrance  of  growing  things,  and  the  faint  chirp 
of  awakening  birds,  she  remembered  that  this  was  the 
Thursday  after  Trinity  Sunday,  the  time  of  Corpus 
Christi  celebration.  It  was  such  a  heavenly  day,  she  de- 
cided that  she  would  surprise  Aunt  Soscha  by  going  to 
Mass  in  the  Augustin  Church,  where  the  Emperor  heard 
the  service  from  his  private  box  high  in  the  church  wall, 
connected  with  the  palace  by  a  passageway.  Olga's  lack 
of  complete  sympathy  with  the  religion  of  the  court  had 
been  another  source  of  annoyance  to  Soscha.  To  a  genu- 
ine Austrian  the  observance  of  religious  forms  was  more 
than  vital.  "They're  formal  and  deadly  as  the  court 
etiquette,"  Olga  would  protest.  "I  like  to  worship  as  my 
heart  tells  me,  and  not  when  and  however  a  priest  pre- 
scribes." To  which  the  shocked  and  dismayed  Soscha 
would  answer,  "You  little  heretic!  It's  a  wonder  the 
Emperor  gives  his  protection  to  anyone  as  sacrilegious 
as  yourself."  Then  Olga  would  go  and  stand  through  a 
Mass  at  St.  Stefan's,  her  heart  uplifted  and  exalted  by 
the  service;  but  in  the  afternoon,  perhaps,  she  would  see 
Archduke  Otto,  observed  standing  so  straight  and  serious 
that  morning  in  church,  brazenly  driving  out  with  his 
latest  amoureuse;  or  there  might  be  one  of  the  Archduch- 
esses who  prayed  demurely  in  the  morning  seen  riding  in 
the  Prater,  dashing  deliberately  into  a  little  fruit  stand 
and  galloping  off  without  a  thought  of  the  consternation 


A  Bird  of  Passage  61 

and  misery  for  which  she  was  responsible.  Olga  could  not 
countenance  these  contradictions.  However,  on  this  glori- 
ous morning  it  was  natural  to  forget  them  and  feel  thank- 
ful just  to  be  alive. 

Later  she  took  her  place  in  the  dim  chapel  where  the 
^ourt  had  assembled  for  Mass.  Olga  noted  her  aunt  in 
the  seat  which  had  been  hers  for  years.  She  hoped  Aunt 
Soscha  would  see  her  and  realize  how  sincerely  she  felt 
the  significance  of  the  day,  but  when  Soscha  did  look  in 
her  direction  presently,  she  gave  no  sign  of  recognition  by 
so  much  as  a  flicker  of  the  blue  eyes.  Wrapped  in  her 
own  thoughts,  Olga  had  an  impression  of  lighted  candles, 
chanting,  and  the  admixture  of  warm  scent  from  wax  and 
^ower  perfume  and  incense.  Then  the  service  was  con- 
cluded and  they  were  following  the  court  flunkies  along 
a  corridor. 

**Your  aunt  will  watch  the  procession  from  our  win- 
dow," whispered  Julie  to  Olga.  "You  must  come,  too. 
Archduchess  Valerie  was  called  back  to  Wallsee.  Two  of 
the  children  have  just  been  put  to  bed  with  measles  and 
they're  quite  ill.  But  Her  Imperial  Highness  requested 
your  aunt  to  stay  here  at  the  Burg."  Giinther's  young 
wife,  Melanie,  and  their  two-year-old  son  were  waiting  with 
some  others  at  the  broad  window  from  which  one  could 
already  see  the  vanguard  of  the  procession  appearing. 
At  the  adjoining  window  was  another  group,  with  the  old 
enemy,  Theresa  Haugwitz,  in  the  midst  of  it.  Olga  and 
she  had  met  frequently  in  the  past  years,  since  Theresa 
had  been  formally  presented  at  court  during  the  season 
Soscha  had  chosen  for  Olga.  The  school-girl  enmity  had 
in  no  degree  abated,  and  on  the  contrary,  there  was  an- 


62  A  Bird  of  Passage 

other  cause  for  jealousy  in  the  fact  that  Theresa  was  in 
love  with  Otto  von  Lainz,  who  paid  little  attention  to  her, 
short  and  swarthy  as  ever,  and  lacking  Olga's  artless 
grace.  She  was  furious  because  he  preferred  Olga^s  spum- 
ing to  her  offering  of  passionate  adoration. 

The  women  at  the  windows  were  picking  out  relatives 
and  special  friends  in  the  line  of  officials.  There  was  no 
laughing  nor  chattering,  but  only  the  undercurrent  of 
interest  that  even  a  religious  spectacle  of  such  huge  pro- 
portions could  not  dispel.  The  commanding  figure  of 
Prince  Alfred  von  Montenuovo  had  just  gone  by,  with  a 
silent  reception  from  the  window  where  Soscha  and  the 
Auerspergs  were  standing.  Montenuovo,  grandson  of 
Marie  Louise  and  Count  Neipperg,  was  a  dread  figure  at 
court  where  he  had  the  imperial  attention  more  directly 
than  anyone  else.  Even  the  Archdukes  feared  him,  and 
the  Archduchess  Marie  Valerie  hated  him  with  her  charac- 
teristic decision  and  never  lost  an  opportunity  to  pour 
stories  against  him  into  her  father's  ear.  Of  late  years, 
however,  she  had  stopped  active  and  open  warfare,  having 
long  since  learned  its  futility  when,  as  a  girl,  she  had 
nearly  been  deprived  of  her  allowance  for  speaking  too 
strongly  against  this  relative  who  was,  above  all  others, 
persona  grata  with  her  father.  At  the  opposite  window 
a  low  murmur  of  acclaim  arose. 

"Prince  Alfred,"  Olga  heard  Theresa  exclaim.  "How 
I  admire  that  man !  He  hates  Russia  and  all  the  Russians 
with  such  a  fine  fervor." 

"Pm  glad  we  aren't  troubled  with  them  much  at  court," 
said  another  voice  which  Olga  placed  as  Toinette  Gosau's 
(nee  Benedek).     Toinette,  who  wandered  in  an  aimless 


A  Bird  of  Passage  63 

circle  of  existence  with  whomever  she  could  find  to  take 
her!  Just  a  year  ago  she  had  married  rather  an  insig- 
nificant army  man  who  achieved  the  only  distinction  of  his 
career  not  long  after  by  dying  of  heart  failure  during  a 
hunt,  an  inglorious  manner  of  being  taken  off,  amid  a 
nation  of  hunters.  But  Toinette  made  the  most  of  her 
chance,  consistently  maintaining  the  role  of  a  heart- 
broken clinging  vine  in  the  hope  of  replacing  her  poor 
dear  Gosau  before  many  months.  All  Olga's  devotion  to 
a  vague  desire  in  her  heart  of  some  day  being  able  to  help 
her  poor  maligned  country  rose  in  rebellion,  as  she  was 
obliged  to  listen  helplessly  to  these  disparaging  comments. 
Suddenly  her  thoughts  came  back  to  the  present.  The 
hush  all  about  was  so  deep  and  solemn  that  she  knew  the 
moment  had  come  for  placing  the  Blessed  Sacrament  on 
the  crimson  and  gold  altar,  the  last  one  of  six  erected  on 
the  line  of  march.  The  band,  stationed  near,  had  ceased 
to  play  the  sweet,  strong  melody  which  Haydn  gave  Aus- 
tria for  her  national  anthem;  amid  the  silence  the 
Emperor  in  his  blue  and  white  uniform,  followed  by  the 
Archdukes,  would  take  his  place  in  one  of  the  gold  and 
crimson  chairs.  Olga  came  closer  to  the  window  to  see 
this  picture  of  earthly  pomp  exhibited  in  honor  of  divine 
power.  When  the  observance  was  completed,  the  proces- 
sion moved  on.  Before  long  the  Emperor  would  return  to 
the  Burg  in  his  gorgeous  and  lumbering  white  and  gold 
coach  drawn  by  eight  cream-colored  horses.  He  had 
walked  bareheaded  behind  the  Sacrament  over  the  entire 
route,  and  now  he  would  resume  his  monarchical  state. 
The  crowds  were  scattering  quietly,  to  go  around  by  the 
Michaeler-platz  on  the  chance  of  seeing  Francis  Joseph, 


64  A  Bird  of  Passage 

or  at  least  one  of  the  Archdukes,  who  were  driven  home 
in  black  and  gold  carriages  drawn  by  six  horses  each.  As 
Olga  watched  the  people  in  their  bright  festival  garments, 
she  saw  a  tiny  figure  leave  the  edge  of  the  walk  and  ven- 
ture out  across  the  Ringstrasse,  still  kept  clear  of  pedes- 
trians. There  seemed  no  one  to  take  her,  and  she  was  in 
danger  at  any  moment  from  being  run  down  by  cavalry 
regiments  that  might  be  returning  along  the  deserted 
street.  Impatient  at  the  heedlessness  of  the  few  soldiers 
and  people  who  remained  in  sight,  Olga  decided  to  go  after 
the  child,  and  slipping  away  from  the  window,  she  went 
downstairs. 

Just  as  she  reached  the  edge  of  the  walk  a  stalwart 
Hungarian  guard  came  tearing  down  the  avenue,  the  dis* 
tinguishing  leopard  skins  on  his  shoulder  and  across  the 
horse's  back  flying  about  him.  Straight  toward  the  baby 
he  seemed  to  ride,  as  the  little  thing  stood  stock-still  in 
amazement  at  this  giant  thundering  down  upon  her.  Stif- 
ling a  scream,  Olga  dashed  out  into  the  street  in  time  to 
catch  the  child  in  her  arms,  as  the  horseman,  almost  on 
top  of  them,  swerved  aside  with  masterly  skill  and  galloped 
on,  leaving  them  untouched.  The  child  gave  a  little  cry 
of  terror  as  the  black  hoofs  flashed  past.  Weakened  in 
spite  of  herself,  Olga  managed  to  get  her  charge  back  to 
the  curbing. 

In  the  palace  Soscha,  talking  to  someone  who  had  just 
come  along  the  corridor,  missed  her  niece  and  prompted 
by  an  instinct  went  back  to  look  out  of  the  window  just 
as  Olga  gained  the  sidewalk.  The  baby  was  whimpering 
and  to  Soscha's  consternation  Olga  knelt  on  the  dusty 
flag-stone  to  comfort  her.    Presently  the  two  came  toward 


A  Bird  of  Passage  65 

the  palace,  the  baby  toddling  along,  clinging  to  Olga's 
hand.  Was  Olga  out  of  her  wits?  Soscha  hurried  toward 
the  stairway ;  she  must  meet  the  two  and  get  a  servant  to 
take  the  child.  She  gained  the  great  hall,  where  the 
Emperor  had  just  arrived  in  state.  With  his  suite  he  was 
advancing  toward  the  apartments  where  luncheon  would 
be  served.  Caught  in  an  awkward  position,  Soscha  did  the 
only  possible  thing  and  stepped  into  a  window  embrasure, 
hoping  the  court  would  pass  by  without  noticing  her. 
But  just  as  the  imperial  party  approached,  a  small  door 
opposite  to  .Soscha's  asylum  opened,  precipitating  Olga 
and  the  peasant  baby  directly  in  the  path  of  royalty. 
However,  Olga  had  seen  her  aunt  first  and  made  toward 
her  across  the  corridor. 

"Aunt  Soscha,"  she  cried.  "Aunt  Soscha!"  There 
was  a  dead  silence.  Following  her  aunt's  horrified  gaze, 
Olga  beheld  the  glittering  vision  of  Majesty  halted  in  its 
advance.  As  everyone  in  the  Emperor's  train  glanced 
coldly  at  her,  every  particle  of  self-possession  deserted 
her.  She  stood  powerless  to  act,  while  the  baby,  awed  and 
frightened  once  more,  began  loudly  and  lustily  to  cry. 

Soscha  was  obliged  to  step  from  her  place  of  conceal- 
ment, whereupon  Olga  recovered  herself  enough  to  go  to 
her  aunt's  side,  leading  the  weeping  child  by  the  hand.  She 
made  a  strange  picture  of  disheveled  loveliness.  Dirt 
streaked  the  skirt  of  her  delicate  summer  dress  and  the 
bodice  was  marked  in  crumpled  spots  from  the  baby's  salty 
tears  and  the  impression  of  her  tiny  head,  yet  the  most 
disapproving  courtier  could  not  deny  that  she  was  beau- 
tiful. Realization  of  her  faux  pas  had  sent  the  hot  blood 
surging  to  her  cheeks.     Soscha  paid  no  attention  to  her, 


66  A  Bird  of  Passage 

and  kept  her  eyes  fastened  on  the  royal  countenance  for 
a  sign  of  favor.  Francis  Joseph  looked  dispassionately  at 
the  three,  he  said  nothing,  and  presently  gave  the  signal 
for  the  party  to  pass  on.  At  least  he  had  not  chosen  to 
make  examples  of  them  publicly,  but  the  Countess  Hohen- 
wald  knew  that  it  would  be  strange  indeed  if  she  were  not 
called  to  account  for  this  untoward  occurrence.  From 
somewhere  a  servant  appeared  and  led  the  child  away. 
01ga*s  heart  beat  wildly  as  her  aunt,  in  a  cold,  hard  voice, 
said,  "Come  to  my  rooms,  if  you  please." 

m 

The  scene  which  followed  was  all  that  might  have  been 
expected  in  Olga's  wildest  flights  of  imagination.  Aunt 
Soscha  had  raged  and  stormed.  The  poor  lady  could  not 
help  it,  knowing  the  variable  nature  of  the  sovereign  will 
and  having  been  able  to  gauge  correctly  the  precarious 
situation  into  which  Olga  had  thrust  herself.  No  one 
realized  better  than  she  what  might  have  happened  had 
the  Emperor's  mood  been  less  benign.  So  misdemeanors 
of  the  past  were  revived  by  Soscha's  fury ;  little  naughti- 
nesses or  unintentional  mistakes  Olga  had  long  since  for- 
gotten were  recalled  by  her  aunt's  all-too-perfect  memory. 
And  finally  Soscha  delivered  her  ultimatum. 

"You've  played  with  us  long  enough,  and  you've  neither 
bettered  your  manners  nor  improved  your  conduct,"  she 
said.  "You  have  less  respect  for  Austria's  traditions  and 
customs  than  when  you  came  here,  if  that  could  be  possi- 
ble. I'm  quite,  quite  through  with  you,  save  on  one  of  two 
conditions.  You  will  let  me  tell  Otto  von  Lainz  that  you 
will  marry  him,  or  you  go  to  the  Carmelite  Sisters  in 


A  Bird  of  Passage  67 

Berlin."  Olga  looked  at  her  aunt  in  astonishment.  She 
had  never  believed  that  affairs  could  come  to  such  a  crisis. 
She  was  shocked  and  hurt.  This  could  not  be  true ;  it  was 
all  a  dream;  Aunt  Soscha  could  not  mean  to  take  her 
away  from  the  comparatively  happy  life  in  the  palace. 

**Well!     I  am  waiting  for  your  answer,"  said  Soscha. 

"Do  you  mean  that  I  must  tell  you  now?"  asked  Olga 
in  a  piteous  voice. 

"I  certainly  do.  You  can't  expect  me  to  give  you  any 
more  time  to  make  up  your  mind.  After  four  years  you 
should  have  a  fairly  definite  idea  of  your  feelings.  Once 
and  for  all,  will  you  marry  Otto  ?"  Olga  quivered  beneath 
the  furious  lash  of  her  aunt's  words.  She  drew  a  deep 
breath  and  pride  came  to  her  aid. 

"I'd  rather  die  than  marry  him,"  she  answered  quietly, 
meeting  Soscha's  blazing  eyes.  It  was  to  be  a  question, 
then,  as  to  who  should  come  off  victor  in  this  contest  of 
wills. 

"Very  well.  You  may  get  your  things  ready  at  once. 
We'll  not  waste  any  time  in  fruitless  discussion.  You  will 
be  ready  to  leave  for  Berlin  to-morrow  afternoon.  Go 
to  your  room  and  begin  to  pack."  Olga  went  out,  realiz- 
ing clearly  for  the  first  time  that  life  had  strange  things 
in  store  for  her.  Instinctively  she  believed  that  this  prison 
to  which  she  was  being  sent  could  not  hold  her  forever. 
Some  day  she  would  break  out  of  it,  and  then  she  would 
follow  this  call  that  was  beginning  to  stir  her  heart  in 
rebellion  against  existence  that  drove  one  around  within 
the  limits  of  a  circle  and  had  no  mercy  nor  pity  for  the 
poor  sufferer  outside  the  sacred  ring. 


CHAPTER  V 


The  two  years  of  convent  life  in  Berlin  were  more 
dreadful  than  Olga  had  thought  possible.  In  fact,  there 
were  many  days  when,  if  Soscha  had  been  near,  the  girl 
would  have  flung  herself  in  agony  at  her  aunt's  feet  and 
begged  to  be  taken  away,  anywhere,  to  anything,  rather 
than  be  left  to  this  desolate  existence.  A  thousand  times 
she  would  have  welcomed  the  convention-bound  life  at  the 
court.  In  her  present  state  it  would  have  been  the  height 
of  rapture  to  be  one  of  the  throng  of  ladies  in  splendid 
evening  dress  dancing  at  a  court  ball,  taking  the  cue  for 
every  action  from  the  Emperor;  the  irksome  demands 
against  which  she  had  protested  would  have  been  indeed 
welcome,  for  Soscha  had  developed  an  exquisite  punish- 
ment. Olga  had  not  been  sent  to  the  convent  for  an  edu- 
cation, though  she  was  given  certain  duties  and  a  few 
studies  with  which  to  occupy  her  time;  but  she  had  been 
allowed  no  new  clothes,  even  when  those  she  had  brought 
with  her  became  thread  bare  and  shabby ;  she  was  not  al- 
lowed any  spending  money,  not  even  for  writing  paper. 
At  first  she  had  not  dreamed  that  her  aunt  could  be  so 
revengeful,  and  at  Christmas-time  had  expected  to  receive 
a  message  telling  her  to  come  back  to  Vienna  for  the  holi- 
days ;  but  no  word  came.  June  blossomed  again  and  sum- 
mer's approach  gave  her  hope  once  more.     Surely  she 

68 


A  Bird  of  Passage  69 

would  be  taken  away  for  the  season ;  yet  once  more  there 
was  only  silence  from  Vienna.  Olga  could  not  understand 
such  determination ;  she  was  by  turns  angry  and  sick  with 
disappointment.  At  last,  when  springtime  of  the  second 
year  had  come  with  no  call  from  Vienna  for  her  to  return, 
Olga  decided  to  ask  advice  of  the  Mother  Superior.  The 
Sisters  had  always  been  kind,  but  they  had  been  forbidden 
too  much  association  with  the  girl. 

*'Mother,"  said  Olga,  at  the  beginning  of  the  long-de- 
sired interview,  "what  have  I  done  that  I  should  be  pun- 
ished so?  I  have  not  meant  to  be  wicked,  yet  I  am  shut 
up  here  like  a  naughty  child.  What  can  I  do?  It  isn't 
right  for  me  to  be  kept  like  this,  without  decent  clothes, 
without  a  penny  to  call  my  own.  I'm  old  enough  to  live 
my  own  life,  and  I  want  to  do  it.  Aunt  Soscha  treats  me 
like  a  stubborn  child."  The  Mother  Superior  looked  at 
her  steadily. 

"So,  you  do  not  think  you  are  a  stubborn  child?"  she 
asked  gravely.  "WTiat  would  you  do  if  you  were  away 
from  here?" 

"I  suppose  I  should  go  back  to  Vienna.  Even  the  court 
life  is  more  free  than  this,  and  I  want  freedom.  Freedom, 
Mother !  Not  to  be  shut  up  like  a  caged  bird  and  made 
to  sing  whenever  I  am  told."  But  the  joys  of  freedom 
meant  nothing  to  the  nun,  and  only  sounded  the  note  of 
worldliness  toward  which  she  taught  others  to  turn  deaf 
ears. 

"Ah,  my  child,  you  are  still  very  young.  Your  aunt, 
the  Countess,  does  well  to  direct  you,  even  when  her  ways 
seem  harsh.  Do  you  forget  that  obedience  is  the  first 
teaching,  obedience  above  all  things  to  the  will  of  God? 


70  A  Bird  of  Passage 

And  that  there  must  be  obedience,  even  when  we  do  not 
understand  why?  Your  aunt  is  a  wiser  woman  than  you, 
my  dear,  and  she  has  cherished  you  these  years.  Are 
you  doing  right  when  you  hurt  her  by  persistent  and  wilful 
disobedience? 

"  'Honor  thy  father  and  thy  mother*  is  the  command- 
ment. Your  aunt  stands  for  you  in  the  relation  of  father 
and  mother,  and  accordingly  you  should  honor  her 
wishes." 

"But  you  know  what  she  wants  me  to  do?"  cried  Olga. 
"I  must  stay  here  until  I  promise  to  marry  the  man  she 
has  chosen  for  me.  I  said  I  would  rather  die  than  do 
that,  and  I  meant  it.  I  don't  love  the  man.  He's  hard 
and  cruel  and  arrogant.  But  I  will  die  if  Aunt  Soscha 
treats  me  like  a  prisoner  much  longer.  I'll  die  or  go 
mad." 

"Hush,  hush!  You  must  not  say  such  things.  You 
ask  me  what  you  can  do?  There  is  nothing,  save  to  bow 
to  your  aunt's  will.  If,  however,  you  would  renounce  the 
world  we  would  give  you  a  haven  here  in  our  little  com- 
munity. You  have  seen  how  peacefully  we  live."  Olga 
sat  silent.     She  had  no  wish  to  accept  this  alternative. 

"I  could  not  tell  you  now,  Mother.  But  I'll  think 
about  what  you  have  said." 

"Think,  my  child,  yes !  And  pray.  Have  you  forgot- 
ten that  you  are  in  His  hands?  He  will  always  help  you 
if  you  ask  Him." 

And  Olga  had  risen  and  gone  away  to  face  once  more 
m  silent  struggle  the  courses  that  lay  open  before  her. 
She  was  forced  to  acknowledge  the  bitter  truth  that  Aunt 
Soscha  had  defeated  her,  that  her  will  had  been  broken. 


A  Bird  of  Passage  71 

She  was  young  and  life  throbbed  in  her  veins.  She  would 
swallow  her  pride,  she  would  do  anything  to  get  away 
from  the  quietness  and  seclusion  that  shut  down  upon  her 
like  a  stifling  paU.  So  in  the  end  she  made  her  decision, 
and  a  telegram  was  sent  to  her  aunt  with  the  pitiful  mes- 
sage, "I  will  do  as  you  wish,  awaiting  your  reply." 

n 

In  Vienna  Soscha  experienced  the  satisfaction  and 
triumph  of  having  gained  her  point  at  last.  She  sum- 
moned Otto  and  told  him  the  news,  which  he  accepted 
with  modified  enthusiasm.  During  the  two  years  just 
past  he  had  been  enjoying  himself  rather  intensely  after 
his  own  fashion,  and  was  less  ready  than  he  had  been  to 
assume  the  responsibilities  of  a  married  man,  even  though 
he  had  no  intention  of  letting  marriage  interfere  with  his 
pleasures.  Soscha,  quick  to  guess  what  was  passing  in 
his  mind,  breathed  a  sigh  of  gratitude  that  Olga's  sur- 
render had  come  before  it  was  altogether  too  late.  Otto 
was  "Colonel  von  Lainz"  by  this  time,  and  more  of  a 
catch  than  ever.  The  marriage  would  have  to  be  arranged 
as  soon  as  possible;  it  was  early  in  May  when  Olga  was 
to  return  to  Vienna,  and  by  the  end  of  June  she  must 
be  the  wife  of  the  dashing  officer. 

Then  suddenly  her  plans  were  altered.  In  England,  the 
king,  Edward  VII,  had  died  and  etiquette  demanded  the 
attendance  of  representatives  from  all  the  courts  and 
royal  families  of  Europe.  Francis  Joseph  would  not 
make  the  journey,  it  was  announced,  but  his  place  would 
be  taken  by  the  Archduke  Francis  Ferdinand,  the  nephew 
who  had  become  heir  apparent  after  the  death  of  Crown 


72  A  Bird  of  Passage 

Prince  Rudolph.  Among  others  ordered  to  join  the  party 
on  its  special  train  were  the  Countess  Soscha  Hohenwald 
and  Colonel  Otto  von  Lainz. 

"I  have  news  for  you,  Otto,"  said  Soscha,  meeting  the 
young  man  in  one  of  the  audience  chambers  after  the 
Emperor  had  dismissed  his  court.  Otto,  taU  and  dark, 
dressed  in  a  new  white  uniform,  seemed  never  more  hand- 
some than  as  he  stood  easily  and  gracefully  before  the 
countess,  absently  pointing  his  precise  and  fashionable 
little  black  moustache.  *'His  Majesty  has  given  permis- 
sion for  Olga  to  return  to  Vienna  on  the  imperial  train, 
if  she  can  be  taken  to  meet  us.  He  will  permit  her  to 
join  our  party  in  London.  And  I  shall  buy  part  of  her 
trousseau  while  we  are  there." 

"Indeed .''"  he  answered.  "I  am  beginning  to  grow  eager 
to  see  Olga.  It  would  scarcely  seem  possible  for  her  to 
have  become  more  beautiful.  Yet,  perhaps,  meditation  in 
the  convent  has  softened  some  of  the  rebelliousness  that 
distinguished  her  at  times.  I  hope  the  seclusion  hasn't 
made  her  pale  and  wan." 

"Don't  fear  that,"  reassured  Soscha.  "You  should  real- 
ize that  she  has  too  much  spirit  to  lose  interest  in  life  so 
long  as  there  is  breath  in  her  body.  She's  young,  and  the 
young  can't  languish  away  without  more  reason  than  she's 
had.    You'll  not  find  her  looks  impaired." 

There  was  a  great  deal  to  be  done.  In  addition  to  her 
own  preparations  for  travel  under  these  peculiar  circum- 
stances which  demanded  new  and  complete  outfits  of  the 
most  fashionable  mourning,  Soscha  was  obliged  to  get 
some  clothes  ready  for  Olga.  The  maid  Sophia,  whom 
Soscha  had  retained  even  after  Olga  had  left  Vienna,  was 


A  Bird  of  Passage  73 

to  be  dispatched  with  the  clothes  under  orders  to  bring 
Olga  safely  to  London.  They  were  to  meet  the  Austrian 
train  at  Flushing  and  cross  the  Channel  with  the  party. 
Needless  to  say,  Olga  was  intensely  excited  over  the  jour- 
ney. Her  aunt  had  telegraphed  hurried  instructions,  and 
Sophia  would  be  in  Berhn  on  the  evening  before  they  were 
to  leave  for  Flushing. 

The  Mother  Superior  had  seen  the  telegram  and  took 
occasion  to  point  a  moral.  "You  see,  my  child,  how  easily 
matters  go  when  once  you  become  resigned.  You  were 
willing  to  obey  your  aunt,  and  behold  this  way  has  been 
opened  for  you.  I  am  sure  that  everything  will  be  for 
the  best." 

"Yes,  Mother,"  agreed  Olga.  She  would  have  agreed 
with  anything  in  her  present  state.  She  was  frantic  to 
get  away,  out  into  the  world  of  freedom.  They  should 
never  shut  her  up  like  this  again. 

Then  Sophia  arrived  with  the  new  clothes.  They  were 
black,  of  course,  but  there  was  a  note  from  Aunt  Soscha 
promising  the  bright  new  garments  of  her  trosseau  when 
they  should  get  to  London.  "I  am  making  an  exception 
in  your  case,"  said  the  note.  "It  might  seem  bad  form 
to  buy  something  that  wasn't  mourning,  but  people  excuse 
young  lovers."  Olga  had  a  shrewd  suspicion  that  Aunt 
Soscha  intended  to  get  a  bargain  or  two  out  of  the  Lon- 
don shopkeepers,  who  had  suddenly  no  demand  for  any- 
thing save  mourning,  of  which  they  could  not  get  enough. 

"You  do  look  a  little  pale,"  announced  Sophia,  criti- 
cally, with  the  assurance  of  an  old  friend.  "Madame 
Hohenwald  was  afraid  you  might  be  too  thin.  The 
Colonel  doesn't  like  scrawny  women,  she  said.     But  you 


74  A  Bird  of  Passage 

haven't  lost  any  flesh.  And  being  pale  like  that  makes 
your  eyes  look  more  brown.  Your  hair's  still  a  good 
color,  too."  One  by  one  Sophia  was  enumerating  her 
charms,  as  though  she  had  been  sent  to  make  an  appraisal. 
"Be  quiet,  Sophia,"  commanded  Olga,  at  last.  "You're 
making  me  ill.  You  sound  as  though  Aunt  Soscha  were 
running  a  slave  market.  I  know  I'm  selling  myself,  but 
we'll  not  discuss  that."  Olga  would  resolutelv  stifle  the 
sadness  and  disgust  in  her  heart.  After  all  it  was  spring- 
time, and  hope  had  a  way  of  filling  one's  soul  with  new 
courage.  Something  of  joy  and  happiness  must  be  in 
store  for  her.  At  least  she  was  exchanging  this  prison 
for  a  life  that  couldn't  be  much  worse. 

m 

When  it  was  time  to  leave  that  afternoon  she  bad^ 
farewell  to  the  Sisters  and  the  Mother  Superior  with  a 
joyous  heart.  She  would  never  forget  them,  she  said. 
True  enough,  and  for  reasons  they  could  more  than  guess. 
In  a  cab  with  Sophia  she  whirled  away  to  the  railroad 
station,  not  quite  sure,  as  she  watched  the  people  on  the 
streets,  that  it  was  not  all  a  dream;  not  until  she  was 
safely  and  actually  on  the  train  could  she  believe  that 
she  would  not  awaken  in  her  tiny  room  at  the  convent. 
At  the  Potsdamer  Bahnhof,  she  was  almost  bewildered  by 
the  noise  and  confusion  that  seemed  twice  as  great  after 
the  silence  to  which  she  had  been  accustomed.  She  fol- 
lowed Sophia  in  awed  admiration  as  that  worthy  bought 
tickets,  bullied  and  cajoled  guards  and  porters  into  doing 
her  bidding.  Their  train  was  called  and  they  hurried 
through  the  iron  gates.    Sophia  motioned  the  porter,  with 


A  Bird  of  Passage  76 

whom  she  went  on  up  the  platform.  Olga  looked  about 
and  saw  a  train  directly  beside  her.  A  train  was  a 
train;  they  were  all  alike;  in  fact  Olga  didn't  see  any 
others  amid  the  dull  roaring  and  rumbling  of  cars  and 
engines.  Her  consciousness  at  present  was  capable  of 
accepting  only  one  thing  at  a  time.  Logically  she  ar- 
rived at  the  conclusion  that  this  must  be  her  train,  and 
suiting  action  to  the  thought,  climbed  aboard.  On  the 
platform  she  stopped  an  instant  to  see  whether  Sophia 
was  coming  back,  and  at  the  same  moment  there  was  a 
slight  lurching  beneath  her  feet.  Olga  leaned  out  over  the 
steps  and  called  wildly  into  space,  "Sophia!  Where  are 
you?  Hurry,  the  train  is  going."  But  no  Sophia  ap- 
peared until  the  train  had  gathered  momentum  and  was 
rolling  smoothly  away.  Then  Olga  saw  her  running  fran- 
tically down  the  platform,  shouting  and  waving  her  arms. 
"Poor  thing!  She'll  get  it  from  Aunt  Soscha  for  missing 
the  train,"  thought  Olga,  as  she  turned  to  enter  the  car. 
"This  is  a  funny-looking  car,"  she  said,  half  to  herself. 
"Trains  must  have  changed  a  great  deal  in  two  years. 
This  coach  is  just  like  one  long  room.  A  long  table,  too. 
It  can't  be  a  new  kind  of  a  car  to  eat  in.  But  where  are 
the  people?"  The  chairs  of  red  plush  and  mahogany 
looked  comfortable,  so  Olga,  like  Goldilocks  in  the  house 
of  the  Three  Bears,  tried  two  or  three  of  them  and  finding 
one  to  suit,  settled  herself  to  await  the  appearance  of 
other  passengers.  After  a  time,  she  picked  up  a  book 
from  the  table  and  began  idly  to  read  the  English  text  in 
which  it  was  written.  She  had  had  some  lessons  in  Eng- 
lish, and  as  long  as  she  was  bound  for  London,  she  de- 
cided to  test  her  knowledge  of  the  language.    Absorbed  in 


76  A  Bird  of  Passage 

this  interesting  diversion,  she  did  not  notice  a  man  in 
military  uniform,  who  entered  from  the  opposite  end  of 
the  car,  stopped  and  looked  at  her  as  though  he  were 
seeing  an  apparition. 

"Nun,  nmi!"  he  said  at  last,  in  deep,  stem  tones.  "How 
is  this.''  What  do  you  do  here,  Fraulein?"  Olga  jumped 
at  the  sound  of  a  voice,  and  looked  at  the  officer.  This 
was  the  first  man  who  had  spoken  to  her  in  two  years. 
To  his  surprise  she  dimpled  and  smiled  at  him. 

"Are  you  the  conductor?"  she  inquired.  He  stiffened 
haughtily.  "Well,  well,"  he  said  testily.  "Well;*  she  re- 
peated, "I  only  want  to  go  to  Flushing.  My  companion 
had  the  tickets  and  she  missed  the  train,  so  I  can't  give 
you  any  money  because  she  hasn't  given  me  any  yet.  But 
I  don't  want  to  cheat  you.  My  aunt  will  make  it  all  right, 
once  we  get  to  Flushing."  The  officer  started  to  inter- 
rupt, but  she  went  on.  "Don't  they  have  compartments 
on  this  train.?  I  was  just  thinking  how  queer  these  cars 
are."  Again  the  man  stiffened  as  though  he  had  been 
insulted. 

"For  mercy's  sake,  say  something  then,  and  tell  me  why 
you  keep  straightening  up  like  that  all  the  time,  and  look- 
ing so  fierce." 

The  officer  continued  to  peer  sharply  at  her,  and  was 
about  to  swing  'round  on  his  heel  when  the  door  opened 
and  a  young  man  in  civilian  clothes  entered. 

"I  say,  what's  all  this,"  he  inquired  cheerfully,  looking 
from  the  grim-visaged  officer  to  the  trim,  attractive 
stranger.  Olga  gazed  at  him  in  turn  and  approved  of 
his  height,  his  solid  build  that  was  nevertheless  not 
stocky,  his  light  brown  hair  and  his  blue  eyes ;  he  was  not 


A  Bird  of  Passage  77 

a  German,  she  decided.  The  officer  also  looked  at  him,  but 
with  an  odd  commingling  of  forced  respect  and  disdain. 
A  glance  at  the  girl,  and  he  turned  abruptly  on  his  heel 
and  left  the  car. 

"He's  the  strangest  conductor  I  ever  saw,"  said  Olga. 
"He  seemed  to  be  angry  at  everything  I  said,  and  when  I 
asked  him  where  the  compartments  were,  I  thought  surely 

he'd "     She  stopped  short  in  confusion.     What  was 

she  doing,  speaking  so  freely  to  this  strange  young  man? 
She  blushed  ^aolently,  and  was  the  more  embarrassed  as 
she  felt  her  cheeks  growing  crimson. 

"Don't  be  alarmed,"  the  young  man  said,  gently.  "I 
don't  want  to  be  discourteous,  but  I  should  like  to  know 
how  you  happened  to  get  on  this  train.  Please  don't  be 
afraid  to  tell  me."  Olga  was  thinking  what  the  Sisters 
would  say  if  they  could  see  her  in  such  a  situation.  Then 
suddenly  she  remembered  that  it  didn't  matter  any  more 
what  the  gentle  Sisters  thought.  She  was  free,  and  for 
this  moment  at  least,  she  might  do  exactly  as  she  desired. 
There  was  no  harm  in  telling  this  nice  boy  about  Sophia's 
having  missed  the  train. 

"I've  been  in  a  convent  in  Berlin,"  she  said  at  last. 
"But  now  I'm  on  my  way  to  meet  my  aunt  at  Flushing. 
She's  going  to  England  for  the  king's  funeral,  and  I'm 
going  to  meet  her  train  from  Vienna.  My  companion  had 
our  tickets  and  money,  but  she  missed  the  train." 

"Your  aunt  is  at  the  court?"  he  inquired. 

"Yes,  she's  the  Countess  Soscha  Hohenwald.  I  used  to 
be  at  the  Burg  myself  until  I  went  to  Berlin." 

"I  didn't  think  you  were  Viennese,  exactly." 

"My  mother  was  Russian,  but  my  father  was  from 


78  A  Bird  of  Passage 

Vienna.  They're  both  dead  now."  The  young  man  seemed 
to  be  studying  her  thoughtfully. 

At  that  moment  a  group  of  men  came  in  and  stood  to- 
gether at  the  other  end  of  the  car,  looking  at  Olga 
and  talking  among  themselves.  Some  of  them  were  of  a 
German  regiment  whose  uniform  she  recognized.  One 
of  the  others  was  the  mysterious  "conductor."  To  Olga's 
astonishment,  the  nice  young  man  suddenly  excused 
himself  and  went  toward  them.  She  watched  them  for 
a  while,  then  turned  back  to  the  English  book,  which 
seemed  to  be  a  sort  of  guide  to  London.  It  would  be 
good  for  her  to  read  that,  and  it  didn't  matter 
about  money  and  tickets  so  long  as  nobody  seemed  to 
want  them  very  badly.  Meanwhile  the  young  man,  Victor 
Renfrew  by  name,  and  Canadian  by  birth,  was  having 
some  difficulty  persuading  the  Germans  that  the  girl  was 
not  a  suspicious  person.  He  couldn't  quite  understand 
why  he  had  so  definitely  become  her  champion, — ^but  he 
was  convinced  that  there  were  no  lies  back  of  those  clear 
brown  eyes.  He  told  them  that  the  girl  expected  to  meet 
a  relative  on  the  Austrian  imperial  train  at  Flushing. 

"What  could  be  more  plain?"  said  the  "conductor," 
when  Victor  had  finished  speaking.  "Those  Austrian  pigs 
have  used  this  young  girl  to  discover  the  plans  of  the 
Fatherland,  and  learn  Germany's  part  in  the  services.  I 
know  those  Austrians.  They  don't  mean  the  Fatherland 
to  gain  much,  even  in  such  a  matter  as  the  respect  paid  a 
dead  monarch.  We  ought  to  put  this  Austrian  spy  ofi^  the 
train."     The  others  looked  undecided. 

"Well,  I  say  that  girl  isn't  a  spy,"  said  Victor,  em- 
jih&tic&Uy.     "No  spy  living  could  simulate  her  innocence. 


A  Bird  of  Passage  79 

She's  telling  the  truth.  And  the  thing  to  do  is  to  let  her 
stay  on  the  train  anyway.  If  she  were  a  spy  she'd  have 
learned  plenty  by  this  time ;  but  look  what  she's  doing, — 
looking  out  of  the  window.  Would  your  genuine  spy  be 
doing  that?" 

"Yes,  but  let  me  tell  you,"  interrupted  the  suspicious 
officer  who  had  first  discovered  her,  *'she  has  been  reading 
those  books  on  the  table.  I  saw  her.  She  can  read 
English." 

"Did  you  notice  the  name  of  the  book,  by  any  chance?" 
inquired  Victor,  with  sarcastic  politeness.  "Does  a  spy 
read  Baedeker's  'London'?  If  she  didn't  know  the  town 
she'd  have  memorized  the  guide  book  by  this  time.  She 
wouldn't  waste  these  precious  moments  doing  that."  He 
saw  that  he  had  his  auditors  with  him,  and  he  gave  them 
a  final  clinching  argument.  "It  might  be  just  as  well  to 
work  on  the  thesis  that  she's  telling  the  truth.  It  would 
be  embarrassing  for  the  Wilhelmstrasse  to  have  to  explain 
why  an  Austrian  subject  was  regarded  with  insulting  sus- 
picion on  an  imperial  train,  particularly  if  the  girl  does 
happen  to  be  meeting  the  Austrian  court  party."  He 
had  the  satisfaction  of  realizing  that  this  last  was  the 
telling  stroke.  After  all,  the  Germans  were  bound  for 
England  and  it  would  not  do  at  this  time  when  their 
Emperor  wanted  to  make  the  most  favorable  impression 
possible  for  even  the  tiniest  cloud  to  appear  on  the  diplo- 
matic horizon.  Above  all,  complications  with  Austria 
should  not  be  allowed  to  arise. 

"What  can  we  do  with  her?"  asked  one  of  the  officers. 

"Let  me  suggest  that  I  advance  the  money  for  her 
fare,"  responded  Victor.     "She  doesn't  know  what  train 


80  A  Bird  of  Passage 

she's  taken,  and  we  must  pretend  that  it's  only  an  ordi- 
nary one.  We  can  act  just  like  ordinary  passengers. 
The  ladies'  maid  you  brought  can  fix  a  stateroom  for  her. 
We'll  pretend  that  Lensdorf  here  is  the  conductor,  and 
he  can  collect  her  money."  Victor  smiled  wickedly  to  him- 
self as  he  made  this  suggestion  before  the  haughty  officer. 
"He  was  the  one  who  found  her  first,  and  she  thought  he 
was  the  conductor,  anyway."  Lensdorf  was  none  too 
popular,  and  he  was  obliged  to  endure  the  illy-concealed 
appreciation  of  the  rest. 

"Well,  that's  settled  then,"  said  Gentzman,  one  of  the 
party.  "I  guess  you're  an  alarmist,  Lensdorf.  But  any- 
way, you  don't  let  a  pretty  girl  put  blinders  on  you. 
Gott,  she  is  a  fine  creature." 

"She  don't  put  the  blinders  on  me,  no!  Not  like  on 
some  others,"  muttered  Lensdorf,  whose  little  balloon  of 
authority  had  been  so  sadly  punctured.  If  he  had  been 
able,  he  would  have  planned  revenge  on  this  upstart  Eng- 
lisher,  but  the  circumstances  of  their  mission  made  revenge 
unwise.  Perhaps  some  day!  As  the  men  went  out,  Ren- 
frew called,  "Come  back  in  half  an  hour  and  collect  the 
money !     That'll  be  time  enough !" 

Victor  approached  the  brown-haired  girl  waiting  in  the 
red  plush  chair.  *'I  beg  your  pardon,  Fraulein !  May  I 
tell  you  what  I  have  done?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Olga.  "You've  not  been  put  to  any 
trouble  on  my  account.'"' 

"No,  indeed,  I  assure  you.  Only  it  is  arranged  that 
you  pay  your  fare  to  the  official  who  first  came  in.  If 
you  will  permit  me,  I'll  be  glad  to  lend  you  some  money." 
Olga  hesitated.     But  what  else  could  she  do?     "Please 


A  Bird  of  Passage  81 

don't  feel  that  you  can't  accept  the  money,"  he  pleaded, 
and  at  last  she  agreed. 


IV 


Olga  had  never  imagined  that  traveling  could  be  so 
pleasant.  All  that  afternoon,  until  the  neat  maid  in- 
formed her  that  her  stateroom  was  ready,  she  had  chatted 
with  this  young  stranger,  who  told  her  his  name,  and 
enough  of  his  personal  affairs  for  her  to  know  that  he 
was  from  across  the  seas  and  that  he  had  been  in  Ger- 
many for  some  months  visiting  the  forests  and  making 
chemical  analyses  that  would  help  him  in  his  business  as  a 
paper  manufacturer.  Intuitively  he  had  known  that  this 
was  the  first  time  she  had  ever  traveled  without  a  com- 
panion, and  he  did  everything  in  his  power  to  put  her  at 
ease.  He  discovered  that  she  possessed  a  naturally  keen 
mind,  but  there  seemed  moments  when  she  was  under  a 
singular  spell  that  made  her  quiet  and  curiously  afraid 
to  speak.  Pie  struggled  to  fathom  the  mystery.  It  must 
have  been  the  convent  life,  he  decided,  nearer  to  the  truth 
than  he  knew.  And  at  last  it  had  been  time  for  dinner, 
which  Olga  had  alone  in  her  stateroom,  with  its  little  brass 
bedstead  and  its  complete  furnishings.  Dusk  had  deep- 
ened outside  the  train,  rushing  swiftly  into  the  sunset- 
tinted  west.  Lights  flashed  on  in  the  other  cars,  particu- 
larly the  one  in  which  Victor  and  Olga  had  spent  the 
afternoon,  where  green-shaded  globes  now  threw  their  light 
close  over  the  wall-maps  and  over  the  table  where  a  group 
of  men  met  in  council. 

Morning  came,  and  Olga  wakened  away  from  the  con- 


82  A  Bird  of  Passage 

vent  walls  for  the  first  time  in  many  months.  She  could 
scarcely  believe  it,  as  she  lay  in  the  shining  brass  bed 
and  watched  the  sunlight  slipping  from  its  spindles.  Then 
she  thought  of  the  Herr  Renfrew.  Would  he  seem  as 
charming  when  she  met  him  again  as  he  had  on  first 
impression,  if  she  met  him  again.?  Ah!  She  hoped  that 
would  be  possible, — and  soon.  Even  as  she  thought,  there 
came  a  rap  at  the  door,  and  his  voice  calling  her. 

"Fraulein  von  Kranz,  Fraulein !"  he  said  softly.  "I  beg 
your  pardon,  but  we're  only  an  hour  away  from  London. 
Will  you  do  me  the  honor  of  having  breakfast  with  me?" 

Olga  sat  upright  in  bed  and  thrust  out  one  bare  foot. 
"Thank  you,"  she  called.  "Will  you  give  me  fifteen  min- 
utes?" Then  as  she  dressed,  she  recalled  what  he  had 
said.  An  hour  away  from  London,  not  Flushing!  She 
pulled  aside  the  window  curtains  and  looked  out  on  green 
meadow  land.  Neat  little  cottages  and  fields  bordered 
with  snowy  banks  of  flowering  hedge,  the  beloved  haw- 
thorns of  England.  What  on  earth  had  happened?  Was 
this  a  dream?  Where  were  the  Austrians?  And  Aunt 
Soscha?  What  would  she  say?  What  would  she  do? 
Panic  seized  her.  What  if  Aunt  Soscha  sent  her  back  to 
the  convent  ?  She  would  kill  herself  first.  And  after  she'd 
trusted  this  young  man?  How  could  he  have  let  her  go 
beyond  Flushing?  She  finished  dressing  in  an  agony  of 
haste  and  rushed  out  to  find  Herr  Renfrew,  almost  collid- 
ing with  him  in  the  corridor  beyond  her  stateroom. 

"What  have  you  done?"  she  asked,  reproachfully.  "I've 
gone  past  the  station  where  I  should  have  met  my  aunt. 
She'll  be  very,  very  angry.  It  makes  me  tremble  to  think 
what  she  may  do.     I  didn't  believe  you'd  forget  me  and 


A  Bird  of  Passage  83 

let  such  a  thing  happen."  Victor  was  alarmed  to  see  her 
so  genuinely  worried. 

*'My  dear  Fraulein,  I  couldn't  prevent  it.  Believe  me 
when  I  tell  you  that  the  train  went  through  Flushing 
without  stopping.  It  was  taken  directly  aboard  the  boat 
during  the  night  and  we  crossed  at  once.  Are  you  sure 
your  aunt  will  be  so  angry.'*  Once  you  have  explained, 
she'll  be  reasonable." 

"Oh,  but  you  don't  know!  She'll  think  I've  done  this 
on  purpose.  If  it  had  happened  any  other  time."  Since 
she  did  not  offer  further  explanation,  Victor  sought  to 
soothe  her  by  distracting  her  thoughts.  He  persuaded  her 
to  eat  a  bit  of  breakfast. 

**And  tell  me,"  he  said,  *'where  we  may  send  you  in 
London.  Have  you  some  friend  to  whom  you  can  go?" 
Dismay  filled  her  afresh. 

"Oh  dear !  I  don't  know  Aunt  Soscha's  plans.  I  don't 
know  where  she  meant  to  stay.  I'll  have  to  go  some  place. 
I  can  go  to  my  other  aunt,  Lady  Middleton.  She  lives  at 
Grosvenor  Square.  Do  you  know  where  that  is?"  Victor 
smiled. 

"Is  Lady  Middleton  your  aunt?"  he  exclaimed.  "I've 
seen  her  so  many  times  and  heard  my  friends  speak  so 
highly  of  her." 

"I  haven't  seen  her  myself  in  years.  She's  my  mother's 
sister,  a  Russian  by  birth.  I've  not  written  to  her  in 
years.  Aunt  Soscha  didn't  like  me  to,  but  I  suppose  she'll 
let  me  come  to  her."  Again  there  was  that  unnatural  sad- 
ness in  her  voice  and  eyes.  Victor  could  not  understand 
it,  but  he  knew  that  someone  had  been  making  this  lovely 
creature  very  unhappy. 


84  A  Bird  of  Passage 

"Of  course  she  will,"  he  reassured  her.  "She'll  be  de- 
lighted to  see  you.  You  needn't  be  alarmed  about  your 
reception.  Lady  Middleton's  far  too  fine  not  to  under- 
stand your  situation."  Privately  Victor  did  not  see  how 
anyone  could  be  ungracious  to  this  girl.  He  was  ready 
to  continue  his  championship  on  British  soiL 


CHAPTER  VI 


A  TAxicAB  whirled  away  from  Victoria  station,  bearing 
Olga  von  Kranz  off  on  her  first  ride  in  such  a  vehicle. 
The  novelty  of  her  position  and  the  glimpses  of  London 
through  the  cab  window  served  to  dispel  some  of  her 
apprehension.  Her  natural  exuberance  of  feeling  was  grad- 
ually returning;  she  had  met  an  interesting  young  man 
under  unusual  circumstances;  and  for  a  time  at  least  she 
was  absolutely  free  from  Aunt  Soscha's  influence.  What- 
ever might  come,  for  the  moment  she  would  enjoy  Life! 
So  she  came  to  No.  30  Grosvenor  Square,  an  imposing 
gray  stone  house,  its  entrance  barred  by  a  quaint  door  of 
wrought  iron.  Telling  the  cab-driver  to  wait,  Olga  rushed 
out  and  up  the  steps.  Presently,  in  response  to  her  vigor- 
ous pull  at  the  bell,  a  man  in  dark-green  livery  opened  the 
wooden  door  and  peered  through  the  iron  grating.  He 
squinted  with  disapproval  at  the  hired  conveyance  by  the 
curb.  Lady  Castleman's  victoria  went  past,  and  the  sen- 
sitive Tompkins  shuddered  with  outraged  family  pride  as 
he  saw  the  noble  lady  raise  a  supercilious  lorgnette. 

"Will  you  please  tell  Lady  Middleton  that  Olga,  Bar- 
oness von  Kranz,  is  here  ?  I  should  like  to  come  in  at  once, 
please."  Tompkins  looked  at  her  intently,  without  mov- 
ing to  open  the  iron  door.  Baronesses  didn't  drive  up  in 
public  vehicles.    "I  must  come  in  at  once,"  repeated  Olga. 

85 


86  A  Bird  of  Passage 

"Just  excuse  me,  miss,"  murmured  Tompkins,  with  an- 
other look,  and  ghded  away.  Olga  fumed  with  nervous 
impatience,  but  just  as  she.  was  about  to  pull  the  door-bell 
again  in  desperation,  the  man  returned.  "Lady  Middle- 
ton  will  see  you,  miss,"  he  said,  sliding  the  bolts.  "Thia 
way,  if  you  please." 

In  the  long,  narrow,  high-ceilinged  drawing  room  Alix 
Middleton,  widow  of  the  ninth  Lord  Middleton,  slender 
and  brown-haired  like  Olga,  had  been  sitting  near  the 
open  windows  at  the  far  end  of  the  room  talking  to  a  man 
some  years  her  senior,  when  Tompkins,  her  butler,  had 
first  announced  the  entirely  unexpected  arrival  of  her 
niece,  "a  young  person,  m'  Lady,  who  says  she's  Baroness 
von  Kranz,  your  Ladyship's  niece."  Never  before  had  the 
mere  enunciation  of  a  title  been  made  to  express  discreetly 
such  volumes  of  disgust.  At  any  other  time,  Alix  Middle- 
ton  might  have  been  more  suspicious,  but  her  first  caller, 
Sir  Alfred  Sidney,  tall,  lean  Englishman  with  a  Dundreary 
mustache,  a  man  of  intimate  acquaintance  in  Downing 
street,  had  come  that  morning  expressly  to  tell  her  that 
the  Countess  Soscha  Hohenwald,  he  had  just  learned,  was 
one  of  the  Austrian  party  bound  for  England.  Sir  Al- 
fred's most  important  mission  in  life,  in  his  own  opinion, 
was  to  convince  Alix  Middleton  of  his  devotion  for  her, 
and  in  the  line  of  duty,  also  in  his  own  opinion,  was 
forever  looking  after  her  interests  and  her  pleasures.  He 
had  known  she  would  be  more  than  interested  in  the  arrival 
of  this  quasi-relative,  the  dragon  guardian  of  the  little 
girl  whom  Alix  would  have  been  only  too  glad  to  have 
adopted  in  her  childless  and  husbandless  state.  But  for 
the  interposition  of  Countess  Hohenwald's  will,  Olga  might 


A  Bird  of  Passage  87 

have  been  enjoying  the  benefits  to  which  Middleton's  heir 
would  be  entitled,  as  well  as  furnishing  an  outlet  for  the 
expression  of  Alix's  thwarted  motherhood.  Olga  had  been 
told  as  little  as  possible  about  her  mother's  sister,  and 
Alix's  news  had  come  principally  from  her  brother 
Michael.  Once  she  had  seen  the  child  during  a  brief  sum- 
mer's visit  to  Pskov,  but  Michael's  removal  to  France  and 
the  child's  departure  for  Vienna  had  left  her  with  even 
more  scanty  information  as  to  Olga's  welfare  than  former- 
ly. Now  it  seemed  almost  uncanny  to  have  Tompkins,  in 
this  somewhat  dramatic  fashion,  announce  someone  who 
called  herself  Alix's  niece.  Wlien  she  had  sent  the  butler 
away,  she  rose  and  began  to  walk  with  quick,  nervous  little 
steps  to  the  window  and  back. 

"I  say,  you  should  be  careful,"  warned  Sir  Alfred, 
standing  with  his  arms  folded,  chin  in  one  hand.  "Fearful 
lot  of  impostors  hkely  to  be  comin'  in  on  us  in  these  times, 
don't  you  know.    I'd  make  sure  this  girl's  story  is  sound." 

"But  fancy  if  it  really  is  Olga !"  exclaimed  Alix.  "If 
you  only  knew  how  it  seems  like  an  answer  to  prayer." 
She  turned  to  hide  her  emotion,  looking  through  the  long 
windows  at  the  patch  of  green  lawn  and  the  flowei^starred 
garden  in  the  freshness  of  a  May  noontide. 

"Haw!  Yes!  Quite  right, — if  it  really  is,"  he  agreed, 
eager  to  share  any  feeling  that  stirred  this  woman  he 
loved.  Then  Olga  appeared  in  the  doorway,  following  at 
Tompkins'  heels.  "Jove,"  thought  Sir  Alfred,  "there  is 
a  resemblance,  at  that.  Not  the  eyes,  but  that  mouth  and 
chin!     Rippin'  looking  enough,  anyway!" 

"Aunt  Alix?"  faltered  the  girl,  slim  and  childlike  in  her 
correct  black. 


88  A  Bird  of  Passage 

"Olga !  Little  Olga,  is  it  really  you  ?"  Alix  came  toward 
her  with  arms  outstretched.  Alix  was  a  wise  woman,  and 
kindhearted;  she  was  like  Olga  in  her  readiness  to  take 
a  great  deal  on  faith,  though  tempered  by  experience  and 
judgment  in  her  case.  Had  she  been  of  English  birth,  she 
might  have  hesitated  now,  but  native  impulse  responded  to 
Olga's  mood.  "What  a  surprise!  You're  not  here  alone? 
Where  is  the  Countess  Hohenwald?" 

"I've  had  the  most  dreadful  time.  I've  come  by  another 
train,  by  mistake.  Aunt  Soscha  will  be  furious.  I  didn't 
know  her  plans,  so  I  came  to  you.  Herr  Renfrew  was 
right.  He  said  you  would  understand.  Sophia,  who  was 
coming  with  me,  was  left  behind  in  Berlin.  She  has  my 
bags  and  my  money,  but  Herr  Renfrew  paid  my  fare. 

"Will  you  give  me  some  money  now.  Aunt  Alix,  to  send 
back  to  him  by  the  cab-driver.'*  He's  waiting  outside, — 
the  cab-driver,  not  Herr  Renfrew.  If  I  might  have  it  at 
once,  please.  I'll  tell  you  how  it  all  happened,  only  I  want 
to  pay  him."  Alix  released  Olga  from  her  embrace  and 
turned  triumphantly  to  Sir  Alfred. 

"I  don't  know  what  blessed  saint  I  have  to  thank,  but 
my  prayers  are  answered.  Sir  Alfred,  this  is  the  little 
one  I  have  hoped  to  see  after  so  many  years!  Olga,  my 
dear,  you  must  know  Sir  Alfred  Sidney,  whom  I  count 
among  my  very  good  friends."  Sir  Alfred  bowed  to 
acknowledge  Olga's  murmur  of  introduction,  "Now,  dear, 
how  much  money  do  you  want.''" 

"The  fare  from  Berlin  here.  Aunt  Alix.  I  don't  know 
how  much  it  is  in  your  English  money.  He  paid  my  cab 
fare,  too." 


A  Bird  of  Passage  89 

"Four  pounds  ought  to  do  nicely,'*  said  Sir  Alfred,  in 
response  to  a  glance  from  Alix. 

"Very  well!  Will  you  ring  for  Tompkins,  please?" 
Alix  was  looking  at  Olga  with  hungry  eyes.  "How  you 
have  grown,  you  precious  child!"  Olga  dimpled  with 
pleasure.  She  thought  of  the  difference  between  her  Aunt 
Alix's  manner  and  the  treatment  she  would  have  received 
from  Aunt  Soscha. 

When  Tompkins  had  been  sent  off  to  get  some  money 
from  the  housekeeper's  strong  box,  Olga  found  a  little 
leather  card  case  in  her  coat  pocket.  Into  this  would  go 
the  money  and  a  note.  "I'm  sorry  to  be  so  much  trou- 
ble, but  is  there  a  little  piece  of  paper  on  which  I  might 
write  a  note  to  thank  Herr  Renfrew?"  Sir  Alfred  drew 
out  a  flat  case  and  extracted  a  card.  *'If  this  will  do,  you 
are  welcome  to  one  of  my  cards." 

"Oh,  thank  you !  I'll  write  only  a  line,"  and  she  scrib- 
bled hastily,  "With  thanks  for  lending  this  to  me.  A 
bientot!     Olga  von  Kranz." 

"Tompkins,  will  you  give  this  to  the  cab-driver  waiting 
outside?"  said  Lady  Middleton,  reaching  out  a  hand  for 
the  little  purse  and  the  note.  Olga  interrupted,  "Aunt 
Alix,  may  I  please  go  to  give  him  the  money  myself?  I 
want  to  tell  him  just  what  to  say."  Alix  looked  a  trifle 
disturbed.  "Please,  if  it  isn't  too  dreadfully  bad  form?" 
She  was  so  distressed  that  Alix  smiled  in  spite  of  herself. 

"It  isn't  done  generally.  But  we'll  excuse  it,  in  your 
case.  At  least  let  Tompkins  send  out  for  your  luggage," 
she  suggested. 

"I  haven't  any  bags.  Aunt  Alix.     If  Sophia  comes  on 


90  A  Bird  of  Passage 

the  train  I  should  have  taken  I'll  get  them  in  a  day  or 
so." 

*'You  are  rather  unconventional,  aren't  you?"  Alix 
asked  playfully.  "Well,  run  on  out,  but  don't  be  too  long 
about  it."  The  girl  went  away,  followed  by  the  humbled 
Tompkins,  who  thought  in  self -justification,  "All  I  can 
say  is  I  hain't  accustomed  to  'aving  Baronesses  drive  up 
to  No.  $0  in  'ired  'acks  of  whatever  sort!" 

"Now  do  you  believe  she's  my  little  Olga?"  said  Alix  to 
Sir  Alfred.  *'I  think  you  succumbed  rather  quickly  your- 
self, in  spite  of  your  warnings."     Sir  Alfred  smiled. 

"Haw,  dear  Alix !  I'd  an  excellent  reason,  all  my  own. 
Did  you  catch  the  name  of  the  young  man  to  whom  your 
niece  is  sendin'  the  money?  Renfrew,  it  was.  Well,  there 
can't  be  two  chaps  of  the  same  name  bound  on  the  same 
errand,  and  I  happen  to  know  that  a  young  protege  of 
mine,  one  Victor  Stanbury  Renfrew,  from  out  in  Canada 
orig'nally,  is  comin'  through  on  the  advance  imperial  train 
from  Berlin." 

"Advance  imperial  train?"  said  Alix.  "What  do  you 
mean?" 

"Just  this !  The  little  Baroness  must  have  taken  quite 
the  wrong  train,  and  gotten  on  the  one  they  send  ahead 
of  the  Emperor  to  clear  the  way.  Somebody,  1'  re  reason 
to  suspect  Victor,  must  have  succeeded  in  keepin'  her  in 
ignorance  of  the  nature  of  the  train  she  was  ridin'  on. 
Must  have  known  how  distressed  she'd  be  if  she  knew.  So 
when  I  heard  his  name,  I  knew  the  girl's  story  was  straight 
enough.  Wait  until  you've  seen  young  Renfrew,  too,  and 
you'll  understand.  I  met  him  first  when  he  was  just  a  lad 
completin*  his  education  on  the  Continent,  as  the  Stan- 


A  Bird  of  Passage  91 

burys  finish  all  their  men.  His  mother  was  a  Staffordshire 
Stanbury,  you  know.  At  any  rate,  the  lad  had  a  leanin' 
for  the  diplomatic  service  at  that  time,  so  I  took  him  down 
to  Ostend  one  summer  when  they  were  watchin'  a  few  of 
the  Austrians  who'd  come  up  to  Belgium.  Diplomatically 
it  was  a  fluke,  but  I  got  to  be  fond  of  the  boy.  I've  fol- 
lowed his  career  quite  closely  since,  and  he's  gone  in  for 
forestry  and  the  manufacture  of  paper  from  wood  pulp. 
Gettin'  on  for  twenty-nine,  and  out  in  Canada  he's  started 
several  new  concerns  to  make  wood  pulp.  He's  got  a 
good  thing,  and  it's  very  successful,  I'm  told.  They'd 
have  lost  a  good  business  man  to  gain  an  indifferent  dip- 
lomat, so  it's  just  as  well  he  didn't  go  in  for  the  service. 

"But  that's  my  reason  for  disregardin'  my  own  wam- 
in's.  D'you  see  now  why  I  offered  one  of  my  cards  for 
the  message?  I  can  fancy  old  Victor  havin'  the  shock  of 
his  life  when  he  sees  my  name.  I'll  drop  'round  at  Clar- 
idge's  this  afternoon  and  look  him  up.  If  I  vouch  for 
him,  d'  you  mind  if  I  bring  him  in  for  tea  some  day.?" 

"No,  indeed !  Couldn't  you  include  him  in  our  party  at 
some  of  the  services.'*  Of  course  this  affair  with  Olga  has 
complicated  matters  for  me,  but  we  might  plan  to  go  out 
to  Windsor  together." 

"Capital  idea,  capital  idea.     I'll  bear  it  in  mind." 

Olga  returned  at  last,  and  Sir  Alfred  hastened  to  make 
his  adieux.  "Must  be  goin'  on,  really,"  he  insisted.  "Doz- 
ens of  things  to  do.    Very  busy  time,  this.    Very  sad,  too." 

"If  you  must  go,"  said  Ahx,  thankful  for  his  tactful 
understanding  of  her  wish  to  be  alone.  "I'm  going  to 
write  my  name  at  Marlborough  House  this  afternoon. 
There  seems  to  be  so  little  one  can  do." 


92  A  Bird  of  Passage 

When  Olga  and  Alix  were  left  together,  Alix  must  first 
feel  the  girl  sheltered  in  her  arms  again  for  a  moment.  "I 
can't  believe  that  I  have  Marie's  baby  with  me.  You  must 
tell  me  all  about  yourself."  Presently  they  were  upstairs, 
where  Olga  could  have  a  cozy  little  room  adjoining  her 
aunt's  dressing  room,  a  dainty  place  of  pink  hangings  and 
white  walls  that  overlooked  the  garden.  As  they  talked 
their  hearts  out  Alix  learned  a  great  many  startling 
things,  among  them  the  reason  why  Olga  happened  to  be 
leaving  from  BerHn  instead  of  Vienna.  Tears  came  to  her 
eyes  at  Olga's  brave  but  pathetic  recital  of  those  lonely 
months  with  the  Carmelite  Sisters;  within  her  there  was 
stirring  a  keen  fury  against  the  cold  and  heartless  Soscha. 
What  a  dreadful  punishment  for  the  child!  That  ex- 
plained the  wistfulness  one  surprised  sometimes  in  the 
girl's  face.  It  explained  her  fear  of  Aunt  Soscha.  Olga 
was  loyal  and  made  no  accusations,  saying  simply  that 
she  "must  have  been  very  difficult  for  Aunt  Soscha  to 
discipline,"  but  Alix  read  another  story  between  the  lines. 

"We  must  invite  the  Countess  to  stay  here,"  said  she. 
"You  see  I  had  no  idea  she  was  planning  to  come,  else  I 
should  have  sent  an  invitation  to  her  in  Vienna.  We  must 
get  into  touch  with  her  as  soon  as  possible,  for  she'll 
worry  about  you." 


That  afternoon  Alix  took  Olga  with  her  when  she  went 
to  pay  her  respects  at  Marlborough  House.  "You'U  have 
a  chance  to  see  London,  dear,  even  though  it  isn't  gay. 
But  I  think  you'll  find  the  mourning  on  the  shop  fronts 
and  along  the  streets  very  impressive,"  she  had  said. 


A  Bird  of  Passage  93 

While  they  were  gone,  three  important  messages  were 
left  at  Middleton  House,  the  first  of  them  filling  the  draw- 
ing room  with  fragrance  and  color.  "Baroness  von 
Kranz,"  read  Alix  from  the  card  attached  to  an  enormous 
basket  of  deep  red  roses  which  greeted  the  two  on  their 
return.  "Come  here,  young  lady,  and  tell  me  who  sends 
you  such  passionate  posies.  There's  a  note  here,  ever 
so  thick  and  fat !" 

"What  wonderful  roses !"  exclaimed  Olga,  burying  her 
nose  in  their  velvety  petals.  Opening  the  envelop  she 
found  the  bank  notes  of  her  train  fare  enclosed  with  a 
written  message.  Here  was  an  answer  to  the  unspoken 
question  that  had  lingered  in  the  back  of  her  mind, 
plaguing  her  to  know  whether  or  not  she  should  ever 
again  hear  from  the  handsome  young  Canadian.  "Why 
didn't  you  tell  me  that  you  knew  Sir  Alfred?"  said  the 
note.  "He  has  obtained  permission  from  Lady  Middleton 
to  bring  me  to  call.  Please  ask  her  to  explain  why  I  am 
returning  the  money.  A  rwederci,  Victor  Stanbury 
Renfrew." 

"Do  tell  me  about  the  money,  Aunt  Alix,"  begged  Olga, 
handing  her  the  card.  Alix  laughed  when  she  had  read 
the  brief  lines. 

"You'll  be  a  bit  surprised,  dear.  Did  you  know  that 
you  traveled  on  one  of  the  German  imperial  trains,  in 
advance  of  the  Emperor's  ?" 

Utter  dismay  filled  Olga's  face  as  she  heard  the  story. 
"What  a  stupid  goose  I  was !  How  silly  and  thoughtless 
he  must  think  I  am,"  she  said. 

"No,  darling!  He  knew  that  something  unusual  had 
occurred.     He  is  a  very  gallant  young  man,  to  my  way 


94  A  Bird  of  Passage 

of  thinking.  When  he  realizes  how  you  had  just  gotten 
out  of  a  convent  under  circumstances  as  they  were,  he*ll 
be  more  than  happy  to  find  his  judgment  sustained." 

Then  Alix  read  the  second  message,  from  Sir  Alfred,  to 
say  that  the  Austrian  train  had  come  in  at  noon  and  that 
the  members  of  the  party  were  already  in  residence  at 
Kensington  Palace.     There,  then,  she  must  send  her  note. 

But  the  third  message  made  her  decide  differently,  for 
Tompkins  announced  that  the  Countess  Soscha  Hohen- 
wald  had  called  in  person  to  see  Lady  Middleton,  and 
wished  Lady  Middleton  and  the  Baroness  von  Kranz  to 
call  at  Kensington  Palace  as  soon  as  possible.  It  was 
significant  that  Soscha  had  discovered  so  quickly  that 
Olga  was  in  London,  and  where.  She  must  be  anxious,  if 
she  could  come  directly  to  Middleton  House  with  such  a 
demand.  Alix  was  furious  at  the  idea  of  being  ordered 
to  go  out  in  such  a  manner,  but  for  the  girl's  sake  she 
felt  that  Soscha's  whims  must  be  gratified.  Time  enough 
later  to  check  her  when  something  really  vital  was  in 
question. 

"I  dare  say  she'll  want  me  to  go  to  stay  with  her  now," 
said  Olga,  quietly,  when  she  heard  of  her  aunt's  call. 
Opposition  to  Soscha's  will  never  occurred  to  her.  Alix 
made  no  comment,  save  to  say  calmly,  "We'll  drive  over, 
dear,  and  see  how  soon  the  Countess  Hohenwald  can  ar- 
range to  come  to  Middleton  House."  Alix  was  deter- 
mined, once  and  for  all,  to  learn  how  far  Soscha  would 
go  to  keep  the  child  under  her  control.  If  she  could  be 
persuaded  to  leave  royal  surroundings  at  Kensington  Pal- 
ace, it  would  mean  that  she  was  bound  above  all  other 
things  to  watch  closely  over  her  niece. 


A  Bird  of  Passage  95 


in 


Soscha's  emotions,  on  failing  to  find  Olga  and  Sophia  at 
Flushing,  had  roused  her  to  a  pitch  of  feverish  anxiety. 
She  was  deeply  chagrined  at  once  more  having  been  em- 
barrassed before  the  court.  But  when  they  reached  Lon- 
don, a  young  secretary  of  the  Austrian  embassy  informed 
her  that  Baroness  von  Kranz  had  arrived  early  the  same 
morning  on  the  advance  German  imperial  train,  a  bit  of 
intelligence  which  served  somewhat  to  restore  her  own 
mental  equilibrium  and  her  self-respect  in  th»  eyes  of  the 
court.  True  enough  that  the  circumstances  of  Olga's 
journey  were  as  yet  unrevealed,  but  the  trip  itself  was 
fait  accompli,  which  was  all  that  mattered  for  the  present. 
However,  the  next  and  greatest  difficulty  arose  when 
Soscha  discovered  Olga's  choice  of  lodgings.  Consterna- 
tion and  dismay  filled  Soscha's  soul.  Here  was  a  com- 
plication for  which  she  could  not  possibly  have  provided 
in  advance.  One  never  could  anticipate  with  Olga,  any- 
way; here  she  was  actually  taking  shelter  with  the  last 
person  in  the  world  Soscha  had  meant  for  her  to  see,  save 
in  the  course  of  the  most  formal  calls.  This  action  on 
Olga's  part  made  her  own  position  more  difficult;  should 
she  be  able  to  stay  in  Kensington  and  what  could  she  do 
if  Lady  Middleton  seemed  disinclined  to  surrender  her 
charming  visitor?  Decisive  action  was  needed,  hence 
Soscha's  call  at  No.  30  Grosvenor  Square. 

The  interview  later  with  Lady  Middleton  and  Olga  was 
peculiar.  In  some  ways  Soscha  felt  as  much  of  a  stranger 
to  the  girl  as  she  did  to  the  woman ;  it  had  been  almost 
two  years  since  she  had  seen  her  niece.     Soscha  noted 


96  A  Bird  of  Passage 

vn\h.  satisfaction  that  01  ga  was  as  lovely  as  ever,  slender, 
and  just  pale  enough  to  look  interesting.  Beside  that 
she  seemed  extremely  eager  to  show  Soscha  that  she  was 
willing  to  do  whatever  she  wished,  even  as  she  had  signi- 
fied in  her  telegram.  Ahx,  watching  the  two,  was  torn 
between  pity  for  01ga*s  state  of  fearsomeness  and  a  de- 
sire to  shake  her  into  defiance;  but  she  realized  only  too 
clearly  that  the  defiance  must  come  from  her,  and  must  be 
very  subtly  shown, — though  precisely  how  she  might  ef- 
fectually daunt  the  Austrienne  was  more  than  she  knew 
at  the  time.  However,  luckily  for  Alix,  Soscha  saw  at  a 
glance  that  she  had  a  worthy  protagonist  and  acted  ac- 
cordingly. She,  too,  was  wilhng  to  gratify  whims  for  the 
sake  of  future  and  more  complete  victory.  To  AUx's 
surprise,  even  though  she  had  been  ready  for  it,  Soscha  ac- 
cepted the  invitation  to  stay  at  Middleton  House.  *'Un- 
fortunately  I  cannot  come  this  evening,"  she  had  said, 
"but  you  may  expect  me  early  to-morrow  morning.  I 
have  freedom  to  make  my  own  arrangements,  and  it  will 
be  pleasant  indeed  to  be  with  you,  poor  dear  Marie's 
sister.  This  sad  occasion  becomes  a  time  of  delightful 
reunion  for  us,  does  it  not .?" 

To  Olga  she  said,  "You  must  receive  Colonel  von  Lainz 
at  the  first  opportunity,  my  dear.  He  is  most  impatient 
to  see  you.  Tliere  is  a  beautiful  ring.  I  dare  say  you 
have  told  Lady  Middleton  of  your  happiness."  Soscha 
was  determined  to  make  Alix  talk. 

**Yes,"  the  latter  responded,  simply,  "I  am  very  eager 
to  meet  Colonel  von  Lainz.  I  understand  that  he  is 
admirably  well  connected." 

"Admirably,"  agreed  Soscha.    "It  is  an  excellent  match 


A  Bird  of  Passage  97 

— and  a  love  match,  too,  though  our  little  Olga  here  is 
shy  about  confessing  it."  Alix  writhed  at  the  unction 
of  her  tone. 

IV 

\Mien  Soscha  was  installed  at  Middleton  House,  she 
began  at  once  upon  her  discreet  campaign  of  trousseau- 
shopping.  She  had  the  functions  and  duties  in  connection 
with  the  King's  funeral  at  her  tongue's  end  and  meant  to 
waste  no  time,  either  before  or  after,  in  getting  Olga's 
wardrobe  ready.  She  would  not  outrage  her  sense  of 
propriety,  indeed  not,  but  appointments  must  be  made 
with  Redfem,  in  Conduit  Street ;  Raoul,  who  was  to  make 
Olga's  boots ;  the  milliners,  glovers,  drapers ;  and  above 
all,  with  Worth  in  Hanover  Square,  who  would  make  the 
wedding  gown.  Colonel  von  Lainz  should  have  no  reason 
to  be  ashamed  of  his  bride.  That  very  afternoon  Otto 
had  paid  a  punctilious  call  at  Middleton  House,  coming 
with  all  the  glory  of  royal  equipage,  the  red  liveried 
driver  and  footman  wearing  crape  bands  on  their  sleeves. 
Though  he  was  not  in  full-dress  uniform,  he  was  never- 
theless magnificent  enough  to  disturb  an  undercurrent  of 
interest  in  the  household.  "You  should  have  thort  'e  was 
arskin'  for  the  Princess  Royal  'erself,  Tompkins  sez  to 
me,"  related  Boots,  below  stairs.  "'^  sez,  Tompkins  sez, 
as  'ow  'e  thinks  it's  queer  goin's  on.  Some  on  'em  above 
stairs  is  too  cheerful,  the  Countess  What's-'er-Nyme, 
partic'ler.  She's  got  orful  little  boots,  'as  the  Countess. 
Come  by  w'en  H'I'm  a-rubbin'  of  'em  up,  an'  see  for 
yourselfs." 

What  Otto  discovered  had  apparently  made  him  cheer- 


98  A  Bird  of  Passage 

ful,  too,  for  he  had  gone  off  in  extreme  good  nature,  leav- 
ing behind  him  the  ring  and  a  glowing  pendant  ruby,  set 
with  several  quaintlj-cut  diamonds.  It  was  a  gorgeous 
thing  and  in  exceedingly  bad  taste. 

"Poor  boy,"  Soscha  excused  him;  "this  is  a  difficult 
position  for  him.  To  be  so  much  in  love !"  And  Alix  had 
her  own  opinion  of  the  "queer  goin's  on,"  especially  in  the 
course  of  Otto's  call,  when  she  had  found  her  fingers  rather 
too  fervently  clasped  and  held  in  farewell;  but  it  gave 
Alix  a  clue. 


The  next  afternoon  Sir  Alfred  came  to  escort  the  ladies 
to  Buckingham  Palace,  where  they  would  see  King  Ed- 
ward's body  lying  in  state  before  it  was  taken  to  West- 
minster Hall.  He  had  brought  Victor  with  him,  and  the 
two  came  early  enough  to  pay  a  brief  call  on  Lady  Mid- 
dleton. 

"I'm  not  exactly  observin'  the  formalities,"  apologized 
Sir  Alfred,  "but  the  lad  here  has  been  busy  straightenin' 
his  affairs,  else  I'd  brought  him  'round  sooner.  He  was 
goin'  to  the  Palace  this  afternoon,  so  I  thought  you'd  not 
mind  my  bringin'  him  along."  Meantime  Alix  had  the 
opportunity  to  contrast  his  demeanor  with  that  of  their 
caller  of  the  previous  day.  No  arrogance  in  this  young 
man's  face,  no  "swank"  in  his  manner,  yet  there  was  a 
quiet  strength  that  seemed  to  be  biding  its  own  time. 
This  blue-eyed  "boy,"  so  she  thought  of  him,  was  never- 
theless a  master  of  men, — and  might  be  of  women,  too,  if 
he  chose.     She  liked  his  quietness  and  deference,  and  she 


A  Bird  of  Passage  99 

saw  with  satisfaction  that  these  very  characteristics  were 
disarming  the  confident  Soscha,  who  paid  as  scant  atten- 
tion to  Victor  as  Otto  had  paid  to  her  the  day  before. 
Apparently  the  Countess  regarded  him  as  some  underhng 
who  had  favored  them  enough  to  be  entitled  to  recognition, 
though  the  acquaintanceship  need  not  be  continued. 
Olga,  for  her  part,  sat  shyly  and  silently  by  during  the 
call,  in  agony  lest  too  much  should  be  said  about  her 
unfortunate  mistake  in  Berlin ;  Aunt  Soscha  still  remained 
in  blissful  ignorance  of  the  manner  of  her  coming,  and 
Olga  dreaded  the  time  when  she  should  be  informed.  But 
very  little  was  said  of  the  trip,  and  presently  they  de- 
parted for  the  Palace. 
/  People  were  coming  and  going  through  the  halls,  where 
a  solemn  hush  governed  them.  In  the  Throne  Room, 
guarded  by  his  faithful  Grenadiers,  lay  all  that  was  mor- 
tal of  Edward  VII,  in  quiet  and  peacefulness,  a  white  pall, 
heavily  embroidered,  covering  the  coffin  surmounted  by 
the  iron  crown  from  the  Tower  and  the  King's  sceptre, 
orb,  and  royal  diamond  crown  garter  on  a  cushion.  At 
the  foot  of  the  coffin  the  flag  of  the  late  King's  company 
of  Grenadier  Guards  was  stretched  on  the  floor.  Soscha 
sank  to  her  knees  there  where  Alix  and  Olga  also  knelt 
for  a  moment's  prayer  in  the  presence  of  death's  majesty; 
for  it  was  majestic  in  the  stillness  of  the  palace  that  had 
been  an  earthly  king's  dwelling.  Sir  Alfred  and  Victor 
waited  at  a  slight  distance,  the  heart  of  the  latter  filled 
with  a  curious  mixture  of  pride  and  affection  for  the  girl 
who  put  her  heart  into  the  performance  of  this  simple, 
tender  rite.  When  the  party  had  come  out  of  the  Throne 
Room,  Victor  walked  beside  Olga  down  the  broad  stairs. 


100  A  Bird  of  Passage 

**The  post  brought  your  note  to-day,"  he  said.  "You 
were  too  good  to  think  so  highly  of  the  roses.  It  was. 
the  greatest  pleasure  for  me  to  send  them,  I  assure  you." 

"Oh,  but  what  a  stupid  person  you  must  think  me,** 
replied  Olga,  shyly.  "It  was  kind  of  you  not  to  mention 
my  mistake  before  Aunt  Soscha  this  afternoon.  I  have 
almost  died  of  shame  as  it  is." 

"Please  don't  say  that!  It  was  perfectly  natural  for 
you  to  have  taken  that  train.  Young  ladies  become  ac- 
customed to  depending  upon  their  companions,  I  should 
fancy,  and  you  were  naturally  bewildered  when  yours 
disappeared.  I'm  only  thankful  that  I  happened  to  be 
on  the  train.  That  one  fellow  was  quite  positive  that  you 
were  an  Austrian  spy,  you  know.  That's  really  the  rea- 
son why  they  wouldn't  let  me  call  you  at  Flushing." 

"They  didn't  take  me  for  an  Austrian  spy?  Oh,  how 
dreadfuH  Do  you  know  that  once  upon  a  time,  in  one 
of  my  schools,  the  girls  thought  I  was  a  Russian  spy !" 
Olga  smiled  a  twisted,  wistful  little  smile  that  touched 
Victor's  heart.  "The  Germans  would  have  arrested  me, 
I'm  sure.  Then  Aunt  Soscha  would  have  been  furious,  so 
think  how  much  more  grateful  I  must  be  to  you  for  sav- 
ing me.  I  never  shall  be  able  to  repay  you."  Victor 
blushed  and  looked  intensely  uncomfortable. 

"Oh,  I  say,  you  know,  I  shouldn't  have  mentioned  that 
Austrian  business.  Never  meant  to.  You'll  think  I'm  an 
awful  bounder." 

"No!  It's  quite  right  that  I  should  know.  And  I  do 
thank  you."  Olga  was  about  to  say  more  when  Aunt 
Soscha  came  hurrying  up  to  where  they  had  stopped  at 
the  foot  of  the  staircase. 


A  Bird  of  Passage  101 

**Come,  come,  my  dear!  Lady  Middleton  is  waiting. 
We  are  to  drive  to  Selfridge's  before  we  go  home.  We 
must  make  haste  to  reach  Middleton  House  by  tea-time." 
And  before  either  Victor  or  Olga  could  sufficiently  com- 
prehend the  situation,  the  girl  had  been  whisked  away  to 
the  carriage.  Victor  stood  staring  blankly  in  the  direc- 
tion in  which  she  had  disappeared,  until  he  felt  a  hand 
on  his  arm. 

"What's  up,  old  top?  See  a  ghost?"  Sir  Alfred's 
voice  whispered.    Victor  turned  with  a  start. 

"Eh?  What's  that?  A  ghost?"  He  shook  his  head 
and  replied  gravely,  "Not  a  ghost,  a  vision !" 


CHAPTER  Vn 


Next  morning  the  ladies  returned  to  the  Palace  before 
ten  o'clock  to  witness  the  procession  to  Westminster  Hall. 
It  was  a  scene  of  color,  despite  the  note  of  mourning,  for 
there  were  flags,  even  though  hung  with  crape,  and  uni- 
forms, gay  enough  for  all  their  black  banded  sleeves; 
there  were  the  royal  coaches,  particularly  the  scarlet  and 
gold  equipage  with  glass  sides,  in  which  Queen  Alexandra 
rode,  looking  never  more  regal.  It  had  been  a  difficult 
transition  for  Olga  from  such  impressiveness  to  the  de- 
tails of  gown  fitting,  but  Soscha  had  made  at  least  one 
appointment  for  that  day.  Then  there  was  a  quiet  tea  at 
Rumpelmayer's  with  the  two  aunts,  Sir  Alfred,  and  Otto, 
this  time  on  Otto's  invitation.  He  was  in  high  spirits, 
having  unexpectedly  obtained  a  card  to  the  Cavalry  Club 
in  Piccadilly,  whence  he  had  just  come  from  a  pleasant 
afternoon  of  boasting  about  Austrian  horsemanship.  But 
the  climax  of  the  day  itself  had  come  when  Sir  Alfred 
surreptitiously  slipped  into  her  hand  a  tiny  folded  note, 
giving  a  prodigious  wink  and  a  tug  at  his  mustaches. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  simply,  scarcely  daring  to  be- 
lieve the  evidence  of  her  senses  as  she  thrust  the  missive 
into  her  coat  pocket. 

"I  beg  pardon,"  said  Otto,  looking  toward  her. 

"It  was  nothing,"  Olga  smiled  at  him.     "Sir  Alfred 

102 


A  Bird  of  Passage  103 

picked  up  a  trinket  for  me.  I  thought  I'd  lost  a  bangle 
from  mj  bracelet."  Sir  Alfred  grinned  amiably  at  Otto. 
"I  merely  said  'Thank  you,'  "  finished  Olga  in  a  mild  tone. 
But  the  mischief  had  been  done. 

It  seemed  ages  before  Olga  had  the  opportunity  to 
open  and  read  what  had  been  written,  she  knew  instinc- 
tively, by  only  one  person  in  the  world ;  but  at  last,  alone 
in  her  room  at  Middleton  House,  she  unfolded  the  paper. 
"As  you  know.  Lady  Middleton  has  been  good  enough  to 
ask  me  to  dinner  this  evening.  Suppose  I  forget  that 
dinner  is  to  be  at  eight  o'clock  and  come  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  earlier.''  Would  you  be  down?"  and  simply  the 
initials,  "V.  S.  R."  Olga  frowned  doubtfully.  Here  was 
a  problem.  Although  it  was  practically  two  hours  before 
dinner  she  began  to  dress  automatically,  thinking  the 
while.  Many  times  since  her  arrival  in  England,  she  had 
pictured  what  life  would  be  if  she  were  permitted  to  stay 
with  her  aunt  Alix,  whom  she  was  beginning  to  adore. 
It  was  easy  to  observe  conventions  here  because  Aunt  Alix 
seemed  always  to  be  playing  some  cheerful  game,  and 
what  one  did  was  simply  to  follow  the  rules.  "Sporting," 
— that  was  the  English  word  that  fitted  it  exactly.  They 
used  the  word  in  England  a  great  deal,  Olga  was  learning. 
Something  was  a  "sporting  proposition,"  anything  that 
was  a  good  idea  might  be  "sporting";  and  Olga  decided 
that  it  would  be  sporting  to  live  with  Aunt  Alix,  who  had 
a  way  of  sharing  with  one  all  sorts  of  delicious  little 
jokes  and  pleasantries.  Lord  jNIiddleton,  whose  portrait 
hung  in  the  hall  along  with  his  ancestors,  must  have  been 
fond  of  the  gay-hearted,  lovely  Alix  whom  he  had  won 
away  from  her  school-life  in  Petersburg.     But  one  might 


104  A  Bird  of  Passage 

not  think  of  staying  with  Aunt  Alix;  Aunt  Soscha  was 
planning  otherwise,  and  without  question  one  obeyed  Aunt 
Soscha,  soliloquized  Olga.  Only, — and  the  little  word 
had  so  much  significance, — only  if  one  might  stay  here, 
and  did  not  have  to  go  back  to  marry  Otto,  one  might 
become  ever  so  much  interested  in  the  young  Canadian, 
"V.  S.  R.'*  Why  should  he  ask  her  to  come  down  to 
dinner  early?  What  could  he  possibly  have  to  say  to 
her?  Ah,  now  she  knew!  Perhaps  it  had  to  do  with  that 
dreadful  mistake  of  taking  her  for  an  Austrian  spy.  She 
had  best  see  him,  after  all,  Olga  thought,  lying  bathed 
and  dressed  in  negligee  on  the  big  soft  couch. 

At  seven-forty-five  when  Alix,  detained  by  an  unex- 
pected crisis  in  her  household  affairs,  and  Soscha,  delayed 
by  an  equally  unexpected  call  to  Kensington  Palace,  were 
both  hurriedly  dressing  in  their  rooms,  Olga  was  waiting 
down  in  the  drawing  room,  irrelevantly  wondering  whether 
*'V.  S.  R."  would  ever  see  her  gowned  in  any  color  other 
than  black.  And  presently  he  was  there  in  the  doorway, 
looking  at  her  with  such  evident  delight  and  satisfaction 
that  her  heart  gave  an  involuntary  leap. 

"The  aunts  came  in  late,  I'm  afraid.  They  are  dressing 
in  a  whirlwind,"  Olga  greeted  him  breathlessly. 

"You  had  my  note,  then,"  he  said,  lifting  her  hand 
gently  to  his  lips.  Knowing  perfectly  well  that  this  was 
merely  a  form,  Olga  was  nevertheless  vaguely  comforted, 
though  she  told  herself  that  she  had  no  right.  She  must 
think  of  something  else  to  say,  since  he  did  not  speak. 

"Have  you  had  more  trouble  about  the  Austrian  spy 
business  ?    I  was  alarmed  when  I  read  your  note." 

"Nonsense,"  laughed  Victor  gently.    "That  isn't  why  I 


A  Bird  of  Passage  105 

came  here  early  to  see  you.  Did  you  think  it  was?  I've 
forgotten  all  about  the  train,  excepting  to  be  thankful 
because  I  met  you  there."  He  looked  deep  into  her  eyes. 
No !  In  her  heart  she  knew  that  his  coming  had  nothing 
to  do  with  her  recent  adventure.  Victor  laughed  again 
for  sheer  joyousness.  "Come,  and  sit  here,"  he  led  her 
gently  to  a  divan  whence  they  could  look  through  the  half- 
drawn  curtains  out  on  the  garden.  "What  I  want  to 
show  you  is  a  foolish  little  photograph.  A  photograph 
of  my  Canada." .  And  there  was  in  her  hand  a  sepia  print 
of  an  attractive  house  set  among  trees,  the  lawn  sloping 
to  the  bank  of  a  river  that  curved  and  broadened  just 
at  the  right  of  the  picture. 

"What  place  is  this.''"  she  asked,  when  she  had  looked 
at  it  for  a  long  moment. 

"Our — that  is,  my  summer  home  outside  Brockton. 
These  woods  are  all  around  us,  the  river's  just  here." 

"Where  is  this  Brockton.?  In  Canada.''"  she  smiled  up 
at  him.     "It's  charmingly  pretty,  Canada,  isn't  it.?" 

"I'U  tell  you  what  the  days  are  like,"  he  answered,  and 
behold  she  was  with  him  in  every  hour.  He  was  poetic 
in  his  pastoral  of  woods  and  water,  more  than  she  had 
imagined  an  Englislmian  could  be,  so  that  in  thought  it 
was  easy  to  go  with  him  to  this  place  across  the  sea,  this 
place  hidden  in  the  forest  where  love  would  be.  It  might 
be  a  foretaste  of  heaven  really  to  be  there  with  him.  Her 
eyes  were  pensive,  sweet,  and  as  he  watched  her  face  he 
said,  though  the  words  did  not  matter,  "From  the  porch 
one  can  watch  the  sunrise."  He  bent  toward  her,  she 
closed  her  eyes.  What  were  these  treasonable  thoup"hts 
surging  through  her  mind,  pumping  her  very  heart's  blood 


106  A  Bird  of  Passage 

up  into  her  face  ?  She  had  no  right  to  think  of  this  young 
man  so.  There  was  a  rustle  of  silks  in  the  hall.  Lady 
Middleton  and  the  Countess  were  coming  downstairs. 
Victor  rose  as  they  came  in,  thrusting  the  photograph  out 
of  sight. 

At  dinner  Otto,  who  had  taken  Olga  in,  was  a  curious 
combination  of  ardor  and  indifference.  There  were  only 
the  five  of  them  as  audience,  but  Otto  managed  to  have  a 
splendid  time  recounting  tales  of  his  prowess.  The  sight 
of  Olga  had  stirred  his  blood  in  spite  of  himself,  though 
to  a  feeling  very  different  from  Victor's  almost  reverent 
regard.  Otto  was  beginning  to  swell  with  the  pride  of 
possession,  and  the  presence  of  these  two  "Englishers" 
urged  him  on.  Soscha  was  glowing  with  pride  as  she 
listened  to  him  discourse  first  on  military  affairs,  on  his 
life  in  Vienna,  and  finally  on  the  girls  he  had  known,  fin- 
ishing of  course  with  an  elaborate  rhetorical  flourish  in 
Olga's  praise.  The  other  three,  Alix,  Alfred,  and  Victor 
tried  to  appear  interested  and  Soscha  attributed  their 
rather  forced  politeness  to  jealousy.  Olga  was  very  un- 
comfortable, and  not  at  all  flattered  by  Otto's  compari- 
sons of  herself  with  other  conquests  of  his  own.  In  fact, 
both  Sir  Alfred  and  Victor  had  come  close  to  clenching 
their  fists  beneath  the  table;  Viennese  society  was  not 
London's  and  there  were  things  to  which  one  did  not  refer, 
no  matter  how  lightly,  about  the  dining  tables  of  Gros- 
venor  Square.  But  as  the  grand  climax.  Otto  sprang  to 
his  feet  and  proposed  a  toast  "to  the  most  beautiful 
woman  in  London  or  out  of  it,  the  woman  who  is  to  be- 
come Frau  Colonel  von  Lainz."  Victor  felt  his  knees 
growing  weak  under  him,  so  that  he  could  scarcely  rise. 


A  Bird  of  Passage  107 

He  looked  at  Olga  for  a  sign  to  tell  him  that  this  could 
not  be;  but  with  one  pleading,  imploring  glance,  she 
averted  her  eyes  and  sat  with  downcast  lids.  It  was  onlj 
a  card  castle,  then,  this  house  of  dreams  he  had  so  fool- 
ishly builded.  Victor  had  almost  an  impulse  to  draw  out 
the  picture  of  the  house  in  the  woods,  tear  it  and  fling 
the  pieces  before  the  girl.  But  somehow  the  wretched 
business  of  the  toast  was  gone  through  with  and  presently 
Lady  Middleton  and  the  other  two  women  withdrew.  Olga 
was  heartsick,  too,  for  she  had  seen  the  pain  and  sorrow 
in  Victor's  eyes  and  knew  that  he  was  thinking  she  had 
played  unfairly  with  him.  Well,  it  was  all  over  now,  and 
this  curious  ache  in  her  heart  would  have  to  be  stilled 
somehow.  She  was  very  docile  when  Aunt  Soscha  manoeu- 
vered  so  that  she  and  Otto  might  be  settled  together  in  a 
comer  of  the  room  after  the  men  had  come  in. 

Somehow  the  evening  dragged,  a  circumstance  which 
they  attributed  to  the  general  sadness  and  mourning  of 
the  time,  which  would  naturally  creep  into  even  the  pleas- 
antest  family  gathering, — and  this  had  suddenly  ceased 
to  be  one  of  the  most  pleasant.  At  last  the  men  pleaded 
stress  of  aff^airs  for  the  next  day  and  were  ready  to  go, 
Victor  still  bearing  the  hurt  look  in  his  eyes.  The  sight 
of  it  maddened  Olga  to  desperation  at  last,  particularly 
when  Otto  tried  to  linger  behind  the  others  in  the  drawing 
room  and  kiss  her  good-by.  She  laughed  tantalizingly 
up  at  him,  eluded  his  embrace  and  escaped  into  the  hall- 
way, where  Victor  had  just  taken  his  hat  and  stick  from 
Tompkins.  Determined  to  speak,  she  approached  hur- 
riedly and  whispered  breathlessly,  "Please  don't  look  at  me 
so!     You  can't  understand,  else  you'd  not  be  hurt  and 


108  A  Bird  of  Passage 

angry."  He  looked  at  her  steadily.  Dare  he  believe  that 
she  was  giving  him  hope.''  But  before  he  could  speak  she 
had  disappeared  through  the  drawing  room  door. 

n 

It  was  not  until  Friday  morning,  the  day  of  the  fu- 
neral, when  Victor  accompanied  Sir  Alfred  to  call  for  the 
ladies  at  Middleton  House  that  he  had  the  opportunity 
to  speak  cautiously  of  what  was  lying  so  close  to  his 
heart.  *'E-er,  has  Baroness  von  Kranz  been  engaged  to 
this  fellow  von  Lainz  long.?"  he  ventured  to  ask  Sir  Alfred, 
who  looked  keenly  at  him,  though  Victor  was  relieved  to 
note  that  this  glance  seemed  void  of  any  consciousness  of 
Victor's  feeling  in  the  matter. 

"Sad  case,  that,"  said  the  nobleman.  'Tiady  Middleton 
was  tellin'  me  yesterday  a  bit  of  how  the  old  girl,  the 
Countess,  y'  know,  has  been  set  on  marryin'  her  niece  to 
von  Lainz  ever  since  the  girl  came  to  Vienna  four  or  five 
years  ago.  The  little  Baroness  is  rather  a  fiery  piece, 
I  take  it,  an'  she  refused  to  become  engaged.  Finally  her 
aiint  shut  her  up  in  a.  convent  until  she'd  consent.  She's 
only  just  given  in,  an'  that's  why  she  happens  to  be  in 
London  now.  The  Countess  was  ordered  here  for  the  fu- 
neral and  wired  to  have  the  girl  join  her,  comin'  on  from 
the  convent  in  Berlin.  You  know  as  much  about  the  rest 
of  it  as  I  do,  save  that  I'm  dashed  if  I  don't  think  it's  a 
crime  to  let  that  rotter  marry  her.  Didn't  like  his  talk 
the  other  night  by  a  long  shot." 

Victor  looked  up  at  the  clear  blue  sky,  with  its  flecks  of 
soft  white  cloud.  Was  there  no  justice  that  such  a  sacri- 
fice could  be  permitted.''    This  delicate  creature  given  over 


A  Bird  of  Passage  109 

to  a  worthless  man  who  would  make  her  his  toy, — satisfied 
only  so  long  as  his  curiosity  was  piqued?  What  a  pitiful 
confession  it  was  that  she  should  have  been  willing  to 
marry  to  be  free  of  virtual  prison  existence  there  in  the 
convent!  A  high-spirited  little  thing  like  that  should  be 
guided  in  the  right  way  and  then  given  her  head.  What 
a  woman  she  would  be  in  the  right  environment !  Victor's 
thoughts  went  back  to  that  moment  in  the  drawing-room 
when  he  had  told  her  of  the  little  house  in  Canada.  If  he 
could  do  something,  perhaps  if  he  could  only  "under- 
stand,"— that  was  what  she  had  said.  So  he  was  all 
tenderness  and  consideration  when  at  last  the  six  of  them 
were  rolling  off  through  the  streets  to  Paddington  station, 
between  rows  of  black-clad  people  along  the  curbs.  He 
sat  with  Alix  and  Sir  Alfred  in  one  of  their  two  carriages, 
now  feeling  no  jealousy  to  see  Olga  and  von  Lainz  to- 
gether. And  Olga,  who  had  dreaded  this  first  meeting 
since  the  dinner,  needed  only  a  glance  from  his  eyes  to  tell 
her  that  he  had  learned  enough,  through  whatever  mysteri- 
ous channels,  for  him  to  understand  in  a  measure ;  so  that 
in  her  heart  there  was  suddenly  a  strange  and  comforting 
assurance. 

They  went  down  to  Windsor  by  an  early  train  without 
waiting  for  the  official  one  for  which  they  had  tickets. 
The  three  from  the  Continent  had  never  seen  the  place, 
and  by  this  arrangement  there  would  be  an  hour  before 
the  services  began.  It  was  a  wonderfully  beautiful  day  to 
ride  through  the  rolling  English  country  where  spring 
had  starred  the  fields  with  flowers  like  white  and  yellow 
and  pink  and  palest  blue  enamels  against  a  green  back- 
ground.    In  the  midst  of  this  for  the  day  were  hundreds 


110  A  Bird  of  Passage 

of  rosy-cheeked  children  with  their  fathers  and  mothers 
come  to  sit  in  the  grassy  fields  and  watch  the  trains  pass. 
White  pinafores  and  blouses,  with  black  ribbons  and  ties, 
had  been  put  on  the  little  folk  making  them  look  strangely 
alike.  Then  the  grim  beauty  of  Windsor  Castle  appeared, 
gray  towers  against  the  blue  sky,  while  on  the  river  white 
excursion  steamers  stirred  the  shining  water  as  though  the 
modem  age  had  pushed  its  very  nose  into  the  midst  of 
those  feudal  times  of  which  the  great  castle  stood  a  re- 
minder. From  the  station  the  party  went  up  the  steep 
hill  between  lines  of  guards  keeping  the  road  clear  of 
black-clad  people  who  pushed  close  to  the  uniformed 
ranks,  while  others  more  fortunate  filled  windows  and  bal- 
conies along  the  way.  Coming  under  the  archway 
into  the  courtyard  opposite  St.  George's  Chapel,  Olga 
was  amazed  to  see  the  heaps  of  floral  offerings  in  a  varie- 
gated mass  against  the  stone  wall,  an  abundance  of  color 
and  fragrance.  For  almost  an  hour  they  strolled  about 
the  upper  and  lower  wards,  stopping  occasionally  in  a 
shaded  spot  on  the  walls  to  look  out  over  the  country- 
side. Soscha  and  Otto,  however,  showed  little  disposition 
for  sight-seeing  and  were  happiest  when  they  could  return 
to  the  midst  of  the  throng  coming  and  going  near  the 
Chapel.  Otto  chose  also  to  pay  a  great  deal  of  attention 
to  Lady  Middleton;  Olga  was  so  curiously  subdued,  and 
without  realizing  what  it  was,  he  missed  in  her  the  charm 
of  unchecked  spirit  which  had  been  hers  before  she  had 
been  sent  to  Berlin.  So  at  last,  back  in  the  quiet  crowd 
Victor  had  an  opportunity  to  talk  with  the  girl  about 
whose  person  all  his  thoughts  were  centering  constantly. 


A  Bird  of  Passage  111 

He  blessed  the  orderly  confusion  which  thus  gave  him  the 
chance  to  speak. 

"Doesn't  the  glorious  sunshine  of  this  wonderful  day 
seem  strangely  prophetic?"  he  asked,  as  they  stood  for  a 
moment  in  the  courtyard  before  passing  into  the  Chapel. 
"It's  easier  to  think  of  life  and  love  on  such  a  day  than 
to  think  of  death." 

"Yes,"  she  answered  softly.  "One  dares  almost  hope 
on  such  a  day."  Olga  pressed  her  left  hand  over  her 
heart  with  a  pathetic  little  gesture  of  hopelessness  that 
belied  her  words.  Victor  smiled  at  her  with  wistful  tender- 
ness. Would  anyone  ever  be  able  to  make  her  completely 
happy? 

"For  what  things  does  one  dare  to  hope?  You  give  me 
courage.    I've  wanted  to  hope  for  things  myself." 

"I  can't  think  of  you  without  courage  enough  to  claim 
what  you  want.  They've  told  me  what  wonderful  things 
you've  accomplished.  You  couldn't  have  done  anything 
without  courage."     She  smiled  gently. 

"Ah,  yes!  But  even  the  best  of  us  have  moments  of 
weakness  and  terror.  I  saw  a  great  strong  elephant  once 
smash  his  pen  to  kindling  in  blind  frenzy  because  a  little 
mouse  had  crept  over  the  floor.  Just  so  one  little  thought 
may  sometimes  put  so  much  panic  and  fear  into  our  minds 
that  we  lash  out  recklessly  and  quite  ruin  our  lives.  That's 
how  I've  not  been  brave  enough  to  face  the  truth  calmly 
and  hopefully."  Beneath  the  crape  veil  that  covered  her 
face,  he  could  see  the  brown  eyes  gleam  suddenly  with 
compassion. 

"I'm  so  sorry.     If  I  could  help  you.     Would  you  tell 


112  A  Bird  of  Passage 

me  about  it  some  day?  It's  often  easier  just  to  be  able 
to  tell  someone,  isn't  it  so?" 

"My  dear,"  said  Victor  quietly,  "that's  what  I've  not 
had  courage  to  do  yet."  He  was  miserably  conscious  and 
ashamed  of  a  silly  lump  in  his  throat.  Olga  looked  at  him 
steadily  for  a  moment  before  she  dropped  her  eyes.  "I 
hope  your  courage  will  not  come  too  late,"  she  said,  lift- 
ing Her  head  quickly  and  gazing  persistently  away  from 
him. 

Two  hearts  at  least  in  the  vast  assemblage  were  beating 
incoherently  when  finally  the  party  went  into  the  Chapel 
where  sunlight  from  the  open  doors  on  either  side  came 
gently  in  like  a  path  of  dusky  gold  whereon  the  motes  of 
dust  flickered  and  danced  against  the  gray  walls  and  the 
smooth  purple  velvet  that  covered  the  tiers  of  seats.  Just 
outside  one  could  see  tree-tops,  their  tender  sun-touched 
leaves  scarcely  fluttering  in  the  hot  still  air.  Sir  Alfred 
and  an  usher  led  the  way  to  their  places  near  the  choir. 
The  two  hearts  felt  a  strong,  sweet  uplifting;  it  seemed  a 
benediction  to  have  been  able  to  come  into  a  dim,  quiet 
church  after  the  blazing  revelation  that  had  stirred  them. 
Victor  ^Dent  to  put  his  hat  beneath  the  seat  just  as  Olga 
raised  her  head  after  breathing  a  little  prayer,  which  had 
not  been  entirely  for  the  repose  of  a  monarch's  soul,  and 
to  her  dismay  it  was  only  with  difficulty  that  she  kept  her 
fingers  from  straying  to  touch  the  soft  thick  hair  brushed 
back  from  his  forehead. 

Then  one  o'clock  sounded  and  outside  the  minute-guns 
began  to  fire  amid  the  tolling  of  bells.  Within  the  Chapel 
the  clergy,  headed  by  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  came 
down  the  nave  toward  the  great  doors  while  the  congrega- 


A  Bird  of  Passage  113 

tion  rose  and  the  women  lowered  their  veils  over  their 
faces.  Through  the  silence  came  faint  strains  of  the  fun- 
eral march,  growing  clearer  and  clearer;  outside  a  horse's 
hoof  stamped  impatiently;  there  was  a  low-voiced  word 
of  command;  with  a  long  roll  of  the  muffled  drums  and  a 
shrill  mournful  note  of  bagpipes,  the  music  stopped  and 
two  or  three  sharp  blasts  of  a  whistle  meant  that  sailors 
were  lifting  the  coffin  from  the  gun-carriage.  When  the 
procession  began  to  move  back  along  the  nave  gentlemen 
of  the  household,  heralds,  and  others  stopped  in  the  aisle, 
a  living  colorful  passageway  through  which  the  clergy 
passed,  followed  by  the  white-robed  choristers  singing  of 
the  "Resurrection  and  the  Life,"  without  even  the  notes 
of  the  organ  to  break  the  spell  of  human  voices  chanting 
their  faith  in  the  immortality  of  the  soul.  Directly  behind 
the  coffin  walked  King  George  in  full-dress  uniform,  escort- 
ing by  the  hand  Queen  Alexandra,  graceful  as  always, 
the  pallor  of  her  face  contrasting  with  the  severity  of 
her  mourning.  Following  these  two  was  the  Emperor  of 
Germany,  who  conducted  the  only  other  woman  in  the 
procession,  Alexandra's  sister,  Empress  Dowager  Marie 
of  Russia.  It  is  to  be  confessed  that  this  man  chosen 
to  come  next  after  the  new  King  of  England  was  a  central 
figure  of  the  time  and  it  is  to  be  acknowledged  that  he 
made  good  use  of  his  advantages.  Periodicals  of  the  day 
did  not  hesitate  to  wax  enthusiastic  over  the  manner  in 
which  the  Emperor  gracefully,  graciously,  and  persist- 
ently endeavored  to  divert  the  suspicions  of  the  English 
people  from  his  country.  His  very  insistence  upon  subor- 
dinating his  privileges  and  rights  to  those  of  the  English 
royalty  seemed  so  simply  sincere.    No  one  was  more  care- 


114  A  Bird  of  Passage 

f ul  to  observe  the  little  courtesies ;  a  correspondent  wrote, 
"when  there  was  a  hand  to  stretch  to  the  Queen  or  to 
Queen  Mary,  his  was  the  hand  stretched."  "His  bearing 
was  that  of  one  on  whom  the  whole  meaning  of  the  solemn- 
ity rested;  his  countenance  a  study  in  profound  but 
mournful  affection"  said  eye-witnesses  of  the  funeral  cere- 
monies ;  yet  how  much  of  this  was  dissemblance,  only  time 
could  prove.  The  rest  of  the  procession  was  composed  of 
visiting  royalties  and  ambassadors.  There  were  officers  in 
bright  uniforms  of  state  and  there  were  others  in  plain 
black,  including  the  famous  American,  Mr.  Roosevelt, 
and  in  definite  contrast  there  were  the  Chinese  representa- 
tives in  pastel-shaded  robes. 

The  service  was  most  impressive,  and  at  the  close  when 
the  coffin  had  been  lowered  into  the  vault,  the  Garter  King 
at  Arms  advanced  from  his  place  to  read  a  proclamation 
in  quaint  old  English  of  the  death  of  the  "most  mighty 
monarch.  King  Edward  VII,  by  the  grace  of  God."  A 
pause  and  he  exclaimed  in  clear  tones  that  carried  through 
the  Chapel,  "God  Save  the  King!"  Verily,  the  King  was 
dead,  "Long  Live  the  King."  It  was  a  solemn  moment 
and  instinctively  Olga  and  Victor  looked  at  each  other 
for  a  fleeting  instant;  as  they  watched  the  departing 
royalty  she  knew  he  was  not  seeing  anything  in  the 
present,  that  his  vision  was  going  forward  to  meet  herjs, 
perhaps  in  the  midst  of  the  Canadian  woodland  where  the 
little  house  stood  beside  the  river.  Soon  they  all  went  out 
through  the  choir,  where  withdrawal  of  the  white-robed 
ecclesiastics  and  uniformed  princes  made  the  place  seem 
darker  in  its  candle-light  with  the  banners  of  St.  George's 
knights   hanging  dimly   above   the   stalls.      Several  feet 


A  Bird  of  Passage  115 

below  the  floor  the  coffin  was  discernible,  and  before  it 
everyone  bowed  in  final  homage.  The  air  was  heavy  with 
the  scent  of  flowers  from  the  adjoining  rooms  and  the 
tent  outside. 

Luncheon  was  served  in  two  great  halls  of  the  castle 
for  the  invited  guests,  and  for  once  Olga's  party  was  to 
be  divided.  Sir  Alfred,  Lady  Middleton,  and  Victor  were 
to  be  together,  while  Olga  was  to  go  with  her  Aunt  Soscha 
and  Otto  in  the  Austrian  group.  It  was  the  first  time 
Olga  had  been  included  in  the  party  with  which  she  was 
to  return  to  Vienna.  There  was  a  busy  hum  of  conversa- 
tin  all  about,  for  in  this  period  of  general  relaxation  after 
the  solemnity  of  the  morning,  friend  was  greeting  friend, 
despite  the  fact  that  the  conversation  was  almost  entirely 
of  personal  recollections  of  the  late  king.  As  the  extreme- 
ly good  luncheon  progressed  Otto  began  to  feel  rather  gay 
and  at  ease  with  the  world  and  himself,  so  that  he  began 
to  pay  Olga  little  undertone  compliments.  "Soon  now  we 
will  be  back  home  in  Vienna,  eh.'"'  he  inquired  cheerfully. 
"Home !  That  will  have  a  new  meaning  for  me  now,  my 
little  one.  Ah!  That  first  moment  when  you  are  mine!" 
He  sighed  and  seemed  fairly  to  pierce  her  with  his  black 
eyes,  so  that  she  shuddered  involuntarily  and  closed  her 
own.  "Ah!  She,  too,  trembles  with  ecstacy  at  the 
thought.  My  marble  maid  will  be  warm  flesh  and  blood, 
eh?" 

It  would  be  hideous,  Olga  was  thinking,  unbearably 
hideous  when  she  must  know  the  foul  depths  of  this  mon- 
ster's mind.  How  could  Aunt  Soscha  be  so  blind  and 
callous  and  heedless  of  the  instinct  that  warned  Olga 
away  from  his  arms.     But  she  must  endure  it  somehow, 


116  A  Bird  of  Passage 

since  there  was  no  other  way  save  that  one  she  had  already 
tried  without  success. 

in 

Then  fate  sent  an  interlude  in  the  progress  of  the  days. 
The  Austrians  were  not  to  leave  London  until  the  follow- 
ing Wednesday,  which  would  give  Soscha  just  enough 
time  to  complete  01ga*s  trousseau.  Sir  Alfred  had  an  idea 
for  their  entertainment  during  this  interval  which,  having 
been  discussed  with  Alix,  resulted  in  the  establishment  of 
a  house  party  at  Sir  Alfred's  place  outside  London  at 
Twickenham  on  the  Thames  for  the  week-end.  It  wouldn't 
seem  irreverent  to  royalty  to  spend  a  few  days  of  this 
glorious  May  weather  amid  the  charms  of  York  House. 
"I'd  like  to  give  the  little  Baroness  a  taste  of  genuine 
old  English  country  life  before  she  goes  back  to  Vienna," 
he  had  said  to  Alix.  "If  we  could  only  forget  the  Countess 
and  von  Lainz,  we'd  pretend  for  a  day  or  two.  Eh, 
what?" 

*'I'm  not  obliged  to  pretend  one  thing, — that  you're  an 
exceedingly  thoughtful  person,"  smiled  Alix.  "You'll  have 
your  reward  some  day." 

Whereupon  Sir  Alfred  smiled  ruefully  and  said,  **I 
plead  guilty  to  bein'  selfish.  I  doubt  if  I'd  be  exertin' 
meself  if  there  wasn't  a  reward  in  it,  y'know." 

"Nonsense  !'*  replied  Alix,  laughing  aloud.  "I  know  you 
better  than  that." 

"No  doubt,  no  doubt,"  he  agreed,  "but  I'd  thank  you 
not  to  forget  the  reward  altogether.  I  shan't,  y'know,  and 
I  shan't  scruple  to  remind  you  of  it,  either,  from  time 
to  time." 

So  they  went  to  Twickenham,  with  a  young  English 


A  Bird  of  Passage  117 

couple  added  to  the  party,  the  Hon.  Alice  Coming  and 
Lord  Malcom  Fitzhugh,  who  didn't  mind  the  prospect  of 
a  fairly  tame  week-end  since  few  people  were  venturing 
even  to  leave  town.  Soscha  approved  thoroughly  of  Sir 
Alfred  and  what  she  chose  to  believe  were  his  means  of 
giving  Olga  and  Otto  another  sentimental  memory  of 
England;  she  distrusted  Alix  and  was  not  quite  sure  of 
Olga,  but  this  English  gentleman  was  so  honest  and  frank 
that  one  could  almost  read  his  thoughts  in  his  face, — 
almost!  In  her  self-confidence,  Soscha  was  in  danger  of 
forgetting  the  little  she  knew  of  his  diplomatic  experience. 
But  at  any  rate  she  interposed  no  obstacles  in  his  way  and 
prepared  herself  to  enjoy  this  intimate  glimpse  of  coun- 
try life. 

Tea  was  served  the  first  afternoon  on  the  terrace,  from 
whence  one  gained  a  view  of  "Eel-Pie  Island."  Alix,  doing 
the  honors  at  the  table  set  beneath  a  striped  awning,  re- 
marked about  the  porcelain  service.  Victor  and  Malcom 
were  handing  the  cups  around  like  well-trained  English- 
men. "Kind  of  you  to  admire  it,"  answered  Sir  Alfred 
in  reply  to  the  polite  chorus  of  approval  from  the  rest. 
"Belonged  at  Strawbr'y  Hill  in  the  old  days,  y'know. 
Walpole  was  a  hound  for  his  tea  and  fussy,  about  his 
china.  Pers'naUy  I'm  not  so  keen  for  that  set,  though  I 
do  fancy  it  for  the  association." 

"Twickenham's  quite  a  renowned  place,  isn't  it.?"  said 
the  Hon.  Alice,  idly.  "Even  got  a  little  air  about  a  penny 
for  Twickenham  Ferry,  or  something  of  the  sort.  I'd  an 
old  nurse  who  used  to  sing  it  to  me  when  I  was  a  wee 
thing.  I've  quite  been  brought  up  on  Twickenham.  Gene- 
vieve Gibbons  used  to  live  here,  didn't  she  ?"  inquired  Alice, 


118  A  Bird  of  Passage 

looking  mischievously  at  Victor,  in  whose  face  the  color 
mounted  a  trifle  in  spite  of  his  efforts.  "  'He's  burst  his 
garter,  Your  Majesty,'  "  she  caroled  gaily,  going  off  into 
shrieks  of  mirth.     "I  declare  I'd  almost  forgotten  that." 

"Wish  to  the  Lord  you  had,"  muttered  Victor,  while  the 
Austrians  looked  from  him  to  the  Hon.  Alice,  and  to  the 
others  who  smiled  in  appreciation  of  a  shared  joke. 

"We  should  explain  why  we're  laughing,"  said  Lady 
Middleton.  "You  see  this  Genevieve  Gibbons  was  married 
to  Lord  Gerald  Moffett  in  St.  James',  years  ago,  when  Mr. 
Renfrew  was  a  small  boy.  It  Was  an  extremely  fashion- 
able wedding,  and  the  late  King  and  Queen  Alexandra 
attended,  among  others,  with  royalty  from  the  continent, 
as  well.  Genevieve  had  a  number  of  young  cousins  whom 
she  asked  to  be  flower  girls,  and  Mr.  Renfrew,  whose 
mother  and  Genevieve  had  always  been  pally,  in  spite  of 
a  difi^erence  of  some  years  in  their  ages,  was  the  little 
page."  Lady  Middleton  turned  to  Victor.  **You  poor 
boy,  I'll  make  it  as  easy  as  possible  for  you. 

"At  any  rate,"  she  resumed,  "the  little  lad  of  seven  or 
eight  was  so  sweet  in  his  white  satin  and  lace  suit,  with  a 
thatch  of  sunny  hair  that  wouldn't  be  'slicked'  down  on 
his  head,  that  he  was  quite  almost  a  counter  attraction  to 
the  bride.  After  the  ceremony  when  the  little  flower  girls, 
led  by  the  page,  started  to  go  among  the  guests  with 
favors  of  tiny  bunches  of  heather  tied  with  silver  ribbons. 
Their  Majesties  were  kind  enough  to  speak  particularly 
to  the  little  page.  He  was  very  polite  to  the  Queen,  but 
suddenly,  just  as  the  King  was  about  to  bend  and  speak 
to  him,  a  look  of  agony  spread  over  his  face  so  that  he 
acted  queerly  and  distrait.     The  King  was  a  bit  puzzled 


A  Bird  of  Passage  119 

and  the  bridal  party  was  distressed,  when  on  an  instant, 
one  of  the  flower  girls — which  one  was  it,  Alice?" 

"Lady  Elizabeth  Jennings,"  prompted  the  other.  "You 
remember,  she  married  Captain  Witherspoon  and  went  out 
to  New  Zealand  two  years  ago?" 

"Oh,  yes !  Anyway,  the  tiny  flower  girl.  Lady  Elizabeth, 
piped  up  in  a  determined  little  voice,  and  said  to  the 
King,  'Please,  Your  Majesty,  he*s  burst  his  garter!' 

"Of  course  you  can  imagine  the  smiles  on  the  royal 
faces.  What  was  it  the  King  said,  Victor?  Come  on, 
tell  us  like  a  good  fellow."  The  whole  party  was  laughing 
now,  and  Olga,  with  tenderness  in  her  eyes  for  the  sturdy 
little  lad,  tried  to  conjure  a  vision  of  the  stalwart  Victor 
as  a  tiny  page  in  white  satin  who'd  "burst  his  garter" 
within  the  sacred  precincts  of  St.  James'. 

"Oh,  he  said,  'Run  along  and  fix  it,'  or  some  such 
pleasantry,"  said  Victor,  smiling  ruefully.  "And  he  pat- 
ted my  head  and  gave  me  a  little  trinket  that  happened 
to  be  in  his  pocket, — my  mother  saved  the  thing  until  she 
died,  of  course.  I  admit  that  I  was  mightily  embarrassed, 
almost  as  much  as  now.  I'll  get  even  with  you,  Alice,  for 
remembering  Genevieve!"     Everyone  laughed  gently. 

"As  we  were  saying,"  Victor  continued  ironically, 
"isn't  Twickenham  a  beautiful  place?"  More  smiles  at 
his  sarcastic  triteness,  but  Olga  took  him  at  his  word  and 
expressed  her  approval. 

"Oh,  I  love  it  already,"  announced  Olga  with  so  keen 
a  trace  of  her  old  fire  that  Alice  looked  lazily  at  her  with 
a  quizzical  twist  of  her  brown  head. 

"My  dear!  You're  almost  American  in  your  en- 
thusiasm." 


120  A  Bird  of  Passage 

"Wait  until  we've  had  you  out  on  the  river,"  said  Sir 
Alfred.  "You'll  see  all  the  show  places.  Even  that  old 
island  yonder's  got  a  history.  A  century  or  two  ago  the 
Princess  Anne  of  Denmark,  Queen  Anne  she  was  later, 
used  to  live  in  this  very  house  an'  bring  her  little  son, 
the  Duke  of  Gloucester,  down  here  for  his  health.  The 
little  chap,  Gloucester,  had  a  whole  regiment  of  lads  his 
age  who  came  here  with  him  an'  used  to  be  taken  for 
exercise  an'  drillin'  over  on  the  island." 

"But  Eel-Pie  is  such  a  queer  name!  Why  is  it  called 
so?"  asked  Soscha. 

"Back  in  1859,  or  thereabout,  there  was  a  tavern  on 
the  island,  called  at  that  time  Twickenham  Ait.  'Ait's' 
a  dialect  word  for  island.  Accordin'  to  Murray's  history 
*a  house  of  entertainment  was  erected  for  those  solicitous 
to  banquet  on  eel-pies,  for  which  the  tavern  was  famous.' 
There's  no  tavern  there  now,  but  the  people  use  it  for  a 
picnicin'  spot." 

"Quaint,  I'm  sure,"  replied  Soscha,  stiffly.  There  was 
an  awkward  silence  until  the  Hon.  Alice  came  to  life 
again. 

"Toffy  dear,"  she  said,  bestowing  upon  Sir  Alfred  a  pet 
name  of  her  own  in  memory  of  the  beginning  of  their 
friendship  in  her  flapper  days  when  she  craved  an  enor- 
mous amount  of  sweets  and  he  had  always  a  pocket  fuU 
of  toffee  for  her  delight.  "Toffy  dear!  Will  you  ask 
Baron  von  Lainz  to  take  me  walking  down  to  the  willows  ^ 
I've  been  waiting  for  him  to  have  an  inspiration."  It 
was  Olga's  turn  to  gasp  in  astonishment  at  the  English 
girl's  nonchalance.  Otto  rose  to  his  feet,  attempting 
feebly  to  conceal  his  satisfaction  at  this  signal  honor  from 


A  Bird  of  Passage  121 

an  English  beauty.  He  gave  his  mustaches  a  final  point- 
ing and  walked  to  where  the  Hon.  Alice  was  reclining  in 
a  basket  chair. 

"Permit  me,"  he  said  punctiliously,  bowing  before  her, 
whereupon  she  got  out  of  the  chair  and  they  went  off 
together  looking  ridiculously  like  a  pair  of  strange  pea- 
cocks. 

"God  bless  you,  my  children,"  Toffy  cfelled  after  them, 
with  an  airy  wave  of  the  hand.  "There's  nothin'  more  for 
me  to  say.  Run  along,  look  where  you're  goin',  and  mind 
you  don't  fall  in  the  water." 

"Toffy  dear !"  mimicked  Lady  Middleton  gently,  as  soon 
as  Alice  and  Otto  had  gone  off  down  the  lawn.  "Come 
over  here  and  I'll  tell  your  fortune  from  your  teacup. 
I've  not  done  that  in  months." 

"D'ye  think  you'll  find  a  better  one  than  you've  been 
in  the  habit  of  givin'  me?  Take  wamin'  that  I'll  not  stand 
for  any  more  prophecies  about  'tall  gentleman  with  a 
present.'  There's  nothing  any  tall  gentleman  can  bring 
me  that  I  want ;  a  little  lady's  got  the  only  thing " 

"Hush,  Toffy !  Remember  there  are  children  present," 
rebuked  Alix,  smiling  merrily  at  Olga  and  Victor.  Soscha 
had  gone  indoors  with  young  Fitzhugh  to  see  a  book  of 
old  English  prints  he  had  brought  down  with  him. 

"They'll  not  be  here  long,"  announced  Victor,  smiling 
and  rising  from  his  chair.  He  turned  to  Olga.  "Will  you 
come  walking  >vith  me?  I'll  show  you  a  quaint  bit  of  old 
French  garden  that  the  Comte  de  Paris,  who  also  lived 
here  once  upon  a  time,  planned  to  remind  him  of  the 
Trianon.  Would  you  care  to  see  it?"  Olga  looked  ques- 
tioningly  toward  her  aunt. 


122  A  Bird  of  Passage 

**Yes,  go,  dear,  if  you  want  to,"  said  Alix.  "It's  all 
right.  I'll  answer  to  your  Aunt  Soscha."  As  they  went 
off  the  older  couple  smiled  tenderly  after  them,  and 
smiling  still  turned  to  look  at  each  other. 

Startled  and  delighted  by  the  expression  in  Alix's  eyes, 
Sir  Alfred  looked  abruptly  away,  murmuring,  "Haw! 
Charmin*  girl,  charmin'  girl,  the  little  Baroness,  my 
word !" 

IV 

Around  the  comer  of  the  terrace  hidden  by  a  circle 
of  big  trees  was  the  tiny  French  paradise.  An  oblong  of 
smoothest  grass  was  bordered  by  finely  graveled  paths 
with  narrow  flowerbeds  running  along  beside  them.  Little 
daisies  were  already  in  bloom  and  there  was  promise  of 
tall  spikes  of  larkspur  and  fragrant  roses.  At  the  end 
of  the  tapis  vert  was  a  green-painted  trellis  as  back- 
ground for  a  tiny  little  fountain  of  dolphins  and  water 
babies  flanked  by  two  shallow  stone  urns  and  two  marble 
benches.  Victor  had  brought  some  cushions  which  he 
tossed  on  one  of  the  benches. 

"Is  this  fairyland,  I  wonder?"  asked  Olga,  gazing  out 
ovr  the  gem  of  a  garden.  "Even  the  Roman  ruins  at 
Schonbrunn  were  not  so  quaint  as  this."  Victor  was 
thinking  it  scarcely  possible  that  he  and  she  were  together 
in  the  garden,  away  from  everyone  else,  and  answering  his 
thought  she  said,  "Nobody  realizes  anything  about  the 
rapture  of  privacy  who  hasn't  lived  in  the  Austrian 
court." 

"Do  you  know  what  you  are  like?"  he  asked  irrele- 
vantly.   She  turned  with  a  smiling  question  in  her  eyes. 


A  Bird  of  Passage  123 

"When  I  saw  you  walking  in  this  wonderful  light,  you 
were  like  a  silver  birch  tree." 

"I'm  glad  that  my  gray  gown "  she  began. 

"It  wasn't  the  color  of  your  gown  exactly.  And  silver 
birches  don't  belong  in  formal  French  gardens,"  he  in- 
terrupted. 

"Silver  birch  is  very  pretty,  but  my  hair  doesn't  go 
with  the  name.    I  should  be  fair,  like  you." 

"I've  found  you  a  name.  You  must  choose  one  for 
me." 

"Sit  down  here  beside  me,  please,"  said  Olga. 

"When  the  silver  birch  has  given  me  a  name."  He 
stood  smiling  down  at  her,  his  glance  like  gentle  kisses 
on  her  brow.  As  she  looked  up  at  the  tall  straight  figure 
a  slanting  ray  of  sunshine  found  their  retreat  and  in  the 
light  Olga  narrowed  her  eyes  like  one  descrying  some- 
thing on  the  far  horizon.  "You  are  like  a  poplar  in  a 
plain,"  she  said  softly. 

"Forget  then  that  I  ever  called  you  'silver  birch,' "  he 
said  suddenly,  sitting  down  beside  her  on  the  cushions. 
"Another,  a  better  name,  comes  to  me.  If  I  am  a  'poplar 
in  a  plain'  you  must  be  what  I  have  sometimes  thought 
you,  a  little  bird  of  passage,  touching  our  lives  ever  so 
lightly  in  your  flight  from  one  land  to  another.  Since 
you  have  spoken  so,  I  shall  want  to  remember  that  even 
the  most  adventuresome  birdling  may  sometime  come  to 
rest  in  the  strong  arms  of  the  poplar."  Silence  in  the 
garden  for  a  long  moment.  A  humming-bird  floated  over 
the  barren  rose  bushes,  from  the  river  came  the  faint  far- 
off^  whistle  of  a  little  steamboat. 

"I  have  brought  you  something  to-day,"  said  Victor  at 


124  A  Bird  of  Passage 

last,  drawing  from  his  pocket  a  heart-shaped  locket 
delicately  wrought  and  enameled.  "Promise  me  you  will 
wear  it  always?" 

"How  beautiful!  I  should  want  to  wear  it  always," 
the  wistful  note  was  creeping  into  her  voice  and  the  old 
sadness  into  her  eyes.  Resolutely  she  smiled  and  fastened 
the  chain  about  her  throat.  "The  colors  and  the  silver 
chain  are  so  lovely  against  my  dress."  After  a  while  she 
hid  the  locket  in  her  gown.  The  light  wind  played  with 
her  loosened  scarf,  sending  it  wavering  like  a  fleecy 
cloud  across  his  face.  "Oh !  I*m  sorry !"  She  sought  to 
draw  it  away. 

"No !  Don't  hold  it  down  in  your  lap !  Let  it  blow  as 
it  will !    Its  touch  is  like  a  gentle  thought." 

Although  in  words  she  did  not  thank  him  for  his  gift, 
her  whole  heart  sang  thanksgiving.  All  her  life  she  would 
remember  what  the  world  was  like  to-day,  she  kept  think- 
ing, as  she  looked  out  over  the  green  expanse. 

Shaded  lights  were  beginning  to  gleam  in  the  drawing 
room  windows  and  the  cool  of  evening  came  creeping  up 
from  the  river.  Victor  rose  reluctantly.  "I  dare  say 
they'll  wonder  at  the  house  where  we've  gone.  And  you've 
not  got  any  wrap,  which  is  more  important." 

*'  *Where  we  have  gone,'  yes !  Where  have  we  gone?" 
sighed  Olga  softly,  rising.  From  the  bench  she  handed 
him  the  blue  cushions. 

"So  far,  my  dear,  that  there  is  no  going  back,"  he 
answered  gravely.  She  made  no  reply  and  only  went  down 
the  shallow  step  to  the  level  of  the  path  and  on  toward 
the  house.  Together  they  walked  in  silence,  for  both 
of  them  knew  in  their  hearts  that  he  had  spoken  truly. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


VicTOE  was  downstairs  early  Sunday  morning;  so  early 
in  fact,  that  as  soon  as  he  had  assured  himself  by  step- 
ping out-of-doors  that  it  was  a  warm,  balmy  day,  he  was 
in  time  to  send  a  note  out  to  be  put  on  the  Baroness 
von  Kranz'  breakfast  tray.  Merely  "Good-morning,"  it 
said,  and  would  she  save  some  time  during  the  day  that 
he  might  take  her  out  on  the  river? 

The  note  despatched,  Victor  set  himself  to  work  on 
some  papers  he  had  brought  down  with  him.  Business  had 
rather  gone  by  the  board  during  the  past  week,  and  he 
was  obliged  to  straighten  affairs  and  plan  his  departure 
for  Canada  within  as  short  a  time  as  possible.  Life  in 
London  would  be  intolerable  when  the  little  bird  of  pas- 
sage had  flown  back  to  Vienna.  In  vain  he  tried  to  fix  his 
mind  on  soda  pulp  and  sulphites,  import  tables,  and  pine 
cellulose, — but  to  no  purpose.  A  company  in  Canada 
had  acquired  an  acreage  with  several  thousand  trees  and 
had  an  option  on  more  land  in  the  same  locality.  Victor 
picked  up  the  letter  asking  his  opinion  on  the  acquisition 
of  more  poplars,  with  which  this  land  was  planted,  for 
sulphite  pulp.  Poplars !  All  he  knew  about  poplars  came 
back  in  a  few  sentences.  *'You  are  like  a  poplar  in  a 
plain."  *'Even  the  most  adventuresome  birdling  may  some- 
time come  to  rest  in  the  strong  arms  of  the  poplar."    A 

125 


126  A  Bird  of  Passage 

gray  gown  and  a  fluttering  scarf.  Victor  shook  himself 
impatiently.  What  was  he  coming  to?  Was  he  a  man 
with  a  mind  and  a  brain,  or  a  silly  school  boy?  He 
couldn't  get  the  girl  away  from  her  aunt  and  von  Lainz, 
anyway.  Drawing  toward  him  some  sheets  of  paper,  ab- 
stractly he  wrote  a  brief  letter  to  the  company,  telling 
them  to  buy  all  the  poplar  groves  they  found  offered  for 
sale;  and  watch  to  see  what  birds  nest  in  the  poplars,  he 
added  in  an  additional  paragraph.  Months  later  he 
smiled  when  Carrington  in  the  company's  office  called  his 
attention  to  the  sentence.  "You  had  us  stumped  with 
that  stuff  about  the  birds,  Renfrew.  But  we  decided  you 
meant  to  look  out  for  woodpeckers.** 

"Yes !    Something  like  that,"  he  answered  quietly. 

The  hours  passed  uneventfully,  save  for  a  brief  en- 
counter between  Soscha  and  Victor  when  the  former  dis- 
covered the  young  man  busy  with  his  affairs.  Soscha  had 
risen  early  and  had  been  driven  to  Mass,  having  learned 
from  Sir  Alfred  that  there  was  a  church  in  the  village. 
Returning  she  found  none  of  the  party  downstairs  ex- 
cepting Victor,  with  a  fair  amount  of  papers  and  corre- 
spondence spread  out  before  him  on  the  library  table. 
Soscha  stood  in  the  doorway. 

**You've  not  been  to  Mass,  young  man?**  she  asked.  "I 
didn't  see  you  in  the  little  church." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  Victor  said,  looking  up  and  ris- 
ing quickly.  "No,  Madame,  I've  not  been  at  church  at 
all.  I've  been  ravher  a  heathen,  I'm  afraid,  catching  up 
on  some  business  details.'* 

Whereupon  Soscha  ejaculated,  "Business?"  in  a  frigid 
tone.     "Pray,  don't  let  me  disturb  you !"  said  she,  going 


A  Bird  of  Passage  127 

out  abruptly.  Such  attention  to  financial  affairs,  even 
as  an  exceptional  thing,  would  be  praiseworthy  in  Otto; 
but  in  this  young  barbarian  from  the  wild  western  conti- 
nent it  was  only  a  glaring  instance  of  lack  of  religion. 
Soscha  had  a  whole  commandment  to  fortify  her  indig- 
nation against  Victor. 

The  afternoon  was  clear  and  bright  and  Sir  Alfred 
announced  that  the  punts  were  ready  on  the  river,  two 
of  them  gay  with  cushions  and  rugs  and  supplied  with 
well-filled  tea  baskets.  After  some  discussion  the  Hon. 
Alice,  Olga,  Otto,  and  Victor  were  settled  in  one  boat, 
while  Soscha  had  coaxed  Sir  Alfred  to  take  her  out  in 
the  other.  Alix,  rather  nastily,  Sir  Alfred  thought,  de- 
cided at  the  last  minute,  after  he  was  caught  with  the 
Countess  and  couldn't  get  away,  that  she'd  not  go ;  she 
had  some  calls  that  really  should  be  made.  From  the 
little  wharf  with  Malcora  Fitzhugh,  whom  she  had  invited 
to  stay  with  her,  she  waved  them  off.  "Don't  stay  too 
long  past  tea-time!"  she  warned  gaily,  laughing  to  her- 
self at  the  contrast  between  Soscha's  complacency  and 
Sir  Alfred's  illy-concealed  distress. 

In  the  other  boat  Victor  was  being  allowed  to  do  all 
the  punting.  The  girls  were  settled  together  facing  the 
bow,  while  Otto  sat  opposite.  Poor  Victor  saw  only  two 
floppy  straw  hats  when  he  was  not  looking  at  the  river,  a 
view  which  was  spoiled  for  him  because  Otto  came  always 
within  the  line  of  his  vision.  However,  being  nothing  of 
a  quitter,  he  decided  to  do  his  best  to  monopolize  the 
conversation,  even  if  he  had  to  resort  to  "ballyhooing.'* 
He  steered  the  punt  up  in  the  general  direction  of  Straw- 
berry Hill,  leaving  behind  Sir  Alfred's   craft,  shooting 


128  A  Bird  of  "Passage 

rapidly  across  to  Richmond.  The  Countess  Hohenwald 
was  in  for  a  short  ride. 

"I'm  going  to  be  the  model  guide,"  Victor  announced 
cheerfully.  *'I  shall  leave  nothing  unsaid,  and  when  we 
return  you'll  be  able  to  astonish  the  rest  with  your  new 
learning."  They  were  slipping  past  Eel-Pie  Island  and 
coming  abreast  of  Alexander  Pope's  villa,  or  rather  the 
towered  building  which  replaced  the  author's  home  and 
the  famed  subterraneous  grotto  with  its  magic  mirrors, 
pride  of  his  heart.  "I  hate  to  do  it,"  muttered  Victor  to 
himself,  "but  I'll  not  let  that  musical  comedy  officer  get 
out  of  punting  and  have  the  pleasure  of  talking  to  the 
girls,  too."  Otto  had  deferentially  suggested  that  he 
knew  nothing  about  propelling  the  boat  and  might  there- 
fore get  them  into  trouble,  and  had  been  so  suave  that 
no  one  could  disagree  with  him.  Victor  talked  on  and  on, 
remembering  anecdotes  of  the  neighborhood  from  the  time 
of  Lady  Mary  Wortley  in  1700-and-something  down 
through  Kitty  Clive's  time  to  the  present.  He  hadn't  real- 
ized how  much  he  knew  about  the  local  history  and  legend. 
In  vain  Otto  had  tried  to  change  the  conversational  trend, 
but  Olga  was  quiet  and  offered  no  aid  while  Victor  always 
came  adroitly  back  to  his  self-appointed  mission  as  guide. 
At  last  they  came  alongside  a  tiny  green  islet  beyond 
Pope's  villa. 

"Let's  stop  here  and  have  tea,"  suggested  Alice  Com- 
ing. "Victor  Renfrew,  I  should  think  your  throat  would 
be  parched.    I've  never  heard  you  go  on  like  this  before." 

**You've  never  gone  out  on  the  river  with  me  before, 
good  reason !" 


A  Bird  of  Passage  129 

"Once  would  be  enough,  if  you're  always  like  this,"  she 
yawned  politely  and  smiled  the  sting  from  her  words. 

"I  thought  Mr.  Renfrew's  stories  were  fascinating," 
said  Olga.    "I've  never  been  here  before,  you  know." 

**Mr.  Renfrew  sounded  like  a  professional,"  Otto  volun- 
teered, with  thinly  veiled  insolence.  "Perhaps  you  run  a 
tourist  bus  for  pleasure  over  in  your  Canada.'"'  he  sug- 
gested pleasantly. 

"Perhaps,"  agreed  Victor,  as  pleasantly.  He  held  the 
punt  steady  while  Alice  Coming  changed  her  seat  to  sit 
by  Otto,  leaving  a  place  for  him  beside  Olga.  Alice 
busied  herself  setting  some  tilings  out  of  the  basket  and 
putting  together  the  spirit  lamp. 

"Victor,  will  you  light  this,  there's  a  dear,"  she  said, 
motioning  to  the  lamp. 

**Let  me,"  begged  Otto.  "I'm  here  just  waiting  to  be 
of  assistance." 

Olga  reached  for  the  box  of  safety  matches.  "Let  me 
help,  too,"  she  cried  gaily.  "I'll  light  the  match  for  you. 
Otto."  Two  matches  went  out  as  quickly  as  they  were 
lit,  but  the  third  she  sheltered  carefully  until  the  flame 
was  clear  and  strong. 

"Be  careful,"  warned  Victor.  "Don't  set  yourself 
afire!" 

She  looked  at  him,  still  holding  the  lighted  match,  until 
with  a  scant  quarter-inch  of  stick  left  uncharred,  suddenly 
handed  the  match  to  Otto.  Obliged  to  take  it  in  his  left 
hand,  he  turned  to  throw  the  tiny  flame  into  the  river. 

"Teufel!"  he  muttered,  as  it  burned  his  palm.  His 
quick  jerk  tilted  the  boat  the  merest  trifle,  but  just  enough 


130  A  Bird  of  Passage 

to  knock  off  the  ledge  a  small  kettle  of  water  the  Hon. 
Alice  had  put  there  until  the  spirit  lamp  could  be  lighted. 

"Oh,  dear!"  wailed  Alice.  "Quick,  Victor,  snatch  the 
kettle  before  it  sinks  !" 

Otto  glared  at  Olga  as  he  murmured,  "A  thousand 
pardons.  Mademoiselle.    I  am  clumsy,  I'm  afraid." 

"Mercy!  Couldn't  you  stand  a  little  fire?"  Alice  re- 
torted petulantly.    The  Hon.  Alice  wanted  her  tea. 

"What  on  earth  are  you  doing?"  she  shrieked  at  Vic- 
tor, who  was  carefully  pouring  the  water  out  of  the  kettle. 

"We  can't  have  river  water  in  our  tea,"  he  protested. 

"River  water,  nonsense !  It  was  full  of  good,  clear,  well 
water." 

"Nonsense,  yourself,  Alice!  Didn't  I  just  catch  the 
silly  kettle  going  down,  the  river  water  pouring  in  the 
spout?" 

"Well!  That  settles  it!  You'll  have  to  shove  us  over 
to  the  shore  so  we  can  go  and  get  some  more  water." 

"Of  course!  I  don't  mind.  Watch  those  tea  things," 
and  Victor  was  standing  in  the  stem  pushing  off  across 
the  stream. 

On  shore  Otto  showed  signs  of  action  and  volunteered 
to  go  after  the  water.  "Come  with  me,  Olga,"  he  said 
haughtily.  He  had  a  lecture  ready  for  the  vixen  whom 
he  suspected  of  having  held  the  match  overlong  on  pur- 
pose to  discomfit  him. 

"Bosh !"  said  the  Hon.  Alice,  beckoning  for  him  to  help 
her.  "We  can't  send  you  two.  You  wouldn't  know  where 
to  go  for  water.  The  Colonel'd  probably  spill  it,  anyway. 
I'll  go  with  him,  and  you  stay  here  to  amuse  Victor." 
Otto,  realizing  the  uselessness  of  protest,  gave  his  hand  to 


A  Bird  of  Passage  131 

the  Hon.  Alice.  The  Countess  would  hear  of  this,  how- 
ever.   "We'll  not  be  gone  long,"  said  Alice. 

Olga  and  Victor  watched  the  two  go  up  the  grassy  slope, 
the  Hon.  Alice  clinging  to  Otto's  arm  with  the  bobbing 
lavender  ruffles  of  her  frock  a  pretty  contrast  to  the 
green  woodsy  background. 

"I  hope  she'll  put  him  in  a  good  humor,"  Olga  almost 
whispered.  "I  suppose  I  shouldn't  have  given  him  the 
match  at  all."  She  turned  to  Victor  who  had  resumed  his 
place  beside  her.  A  roguish  smile  broke  through  her  mask 
of  concern.     "Otto's  perfectly  furious  with  me  now." 

"You  did  do  it  on  purpose,  then!  I  hadn't  dare  hope 
you  really  did !"    They  were  both  smiling  broadly. 

"He  was  so  perfectly  horrid  about  refusing  to  help  you 
push  the  boat,"  she  said  emphatically.  "He  deserved 
getting  burned  for  a  lesson.  And  that  insulting  thing 
about  the  tourist  bus.  What  must  you  think  of  the  Aus- 
trian men,  Mr.  Renfrew?" 

"I'm  not  troubling  about  the  Austrian  men.  I  dare 
say  von  Lainz  has  been  so  accustomed  to  giving  commands 
in  the  army  that  he  doesn't  like  to  have  things  taken  out 
of  his  hands.  However,  if  I  didn't  bore  you,  that's  all 
I  care." 

"No !  It  was  delicious  and  quaint  to  hear  about  the 
people  who  used  to  go  up  and  down  this  very  same  river. 
It  gives  one  such  an  odd  sort  of  feeling.  But  how  do  you 
know  so  much  about  so  many  things.''  I  think  you  must 
be  a  professor  in  a  university." 

"Heaven  forbid!  I'm  just  a  grubbing  jack-of-all- 
trades,  interested  most  in  paper  manufacture.  That's 
what  I  was  doing  in  Germany,  you  know.     Studying  a 


132  A  Bird  of  Passage 

certain  branch  of  forestry  and  making  chemical  analyses. 
But  let's  not  talk  about  wood  pulp  and  sulphites  on  a 
day  like  this.  Let's  talk  about  you  and  me !  You're  quite 
comfortable?"  he  asked  gently.    "Warm  enough?" 

"Yes,  thank  you.  The  sunlight  feels  delightfully  warm 
over  my  shoulders." 

"You  wouldn't  like  a  parasol  raised?" 

"No,  I  think  not.  This  is  quite  cozy."  She  fitted  the 
cushions  into  the  comer  behind  her  back  that  she  might 
face  him  more  directly.  There  was  silence,  but  only  for 
a  moment  until  Victor  began. 

"Just  a  week  and  a  day  ago  a  girl  came  into  my  life 
as  though  she  had  been  sent  by  the  gods  themselves.  I've 
been  with  other  people  for  years  without  knowing  them 
as  I  know  her.  The  first  time  I  saw  her  my  heart  didn't 
say,  *I*m  glad  to  meet  you.  I  think  I  shall  like  you !'  It 
said,  'I'm  so  glad  to  have  found  you  again.  Where  have 
you  been  for  so  long?  Why  haven't  you  come  sooner?'  And 
all  this  past  week,  when  my  thoughts  should  have  been 
most  occupied  with  His  Majesty's  funeral,  as  I  stood  be- 
side this  girl  in  the  palace  or  the  chapel,  my  heart  said 
to  her  across  the  distance,  *Just  so  you  looked  when  hand 
in  hand  we  watched  the  funeral  barge  of  the  great  Rameses 
float  majestically  down  the  Nile'  or  *So  we  stood  on  a  high 
cliff  overlooking  the  fjord  and  saw  the  flaming  dragon- 
ship  of  Harald  the  Fair  go  forth  upon  its  last  long  jour- 
ney.' And  my  heart  would  cry,  'Sweetheart,  you  do  re- 
member?' for  it  seemed  at  times  as  though  she  must  under- 
stand." He  paused  and  Olga  looked  beyond  him  at  the 
peaceful  green  meadows.  What  a  poet  he  was,  too,  this 
strong  gentle  man  with  his  firm  chin  and  his  blue  eyes ! 


A  Bird  of  Passage  133 

"So  when  I  realize  that  I  must  soon  return  to  the  place 
I've  called  home,  I  want  that  girl  my  heart  has  found 
again  to  go  back  with  me.  I  promise  her  my  love  and  my 
life."  Visions  of  the  joy  that  liberty  and  love  would  give 
floated  before  her.  She  bent  her  head  and  as  the  delicate 
color  came  and  went  in  her  cheeks,  he  continued,  "I  have 
seen  you  the  sovereign  lady  of  my  house,  and  myself  wait- 
ing on  you, — showing  you  in  that  far  country  all  the 
things  that  are  dear  to  me.  Olga,"  he  said  her  name  al- 
most shyly,  "Olga,  it's  that  I'm  loving  you  so  much.  Do 
you  understand?" 

"Yes,  yes,"  she  murmured  softly,  turning  her  face  away. . 
He  came  closer  and  clasped  one  cool,  strong  hand  over 
hers.  "Please!"  she  whispered.  "I  must  tell  you.  You 
value  me  too  highly,  for  I'm  nothing  but  a  girl  who's  been 
searching  all  her  life  for  freedom  and  happiness.  I 
would  only  bring  you  my  longings." 

"I  only  bring  you  mi/  longings,"  he  replied;  '*but  my 
longing  is  for  you  and  your  happiness.  Will  you  marry 
and  go  out  to  Canada  with  me?"  He  was  about  to  speak 
further  when  Olga,  prompted  by  some  instinct  to  glance 
over  her  shoulder,  saw  Alice  and  Otto  coming  along  the 
shore. 

"Ssh!     Be  careful!     The  others  are  coming." 

"Promise  me  just  this,"  he  said  quickly.  "Come  down 
to  the  little  French  garden  for  a  moment  while  the  rest 
are  dressing  this  evening.  I  mtist  see  you  alone.  Only 
remember !  I  love  you !"  The  words  were  a  mere  caress- 
ing breath,  as  Victor  rose  to  greet  Alice. 

"What  cheer,  old  thing?"  he  called  gaily. 

"It's  been  ghastly,  really,"  she  answered.     "The  first 


134  A  Bird  of  Passage 

well  we  found  had  been  pumped  dry  and  it  was  miles  to 
the  next  one.  Some  of  these  places  aren't  open  this  jear, 
you  know." 

"You've  certainly  worked  for  your  tea,  you  two!  Get 
in  here  and  we'll  be  back  beside  the  little  island  in  a  jiffy." 

"Don't  let's  stir  a  foot  without  tea,"  said  Alice.  "We're 
all  right  here,  and  I'm  dead  for  food." 

n 

Olga  was  unnaturally  quiet  during  the  remainder  of  the 
excursion,  though  she  tried  to  be  disarmingly  nice  to  Otto. 
In  her  mind  thought  after  thought  struggled  for  mastery. 
Her  heart  was  poised  for  flight, — ^would  it  be  a  swift, 
strong,  beautiful  journey  into  new  lands,  or  must  it  end 
back  in  the  old  country  after  only  a  few  feeble  protesting 
flutters  of  the  wing.''  She  was  disturbed  at  the  poignant 
fear  in  her  heart  lest  it  should  not  be  the  former, — and 
yet  how  disloyal  she  would  be !  Vainly  she  twisted  Otto's 
ring  that  seemed  a  circlet  of  living  fire  on  her  finger. 

No  one  else  was  about  when  they  returned  to  York 
House.  While  Victor  and  Alice  moored  the  punt,  Olga 
sauntered  ahead  across  the  lawn.  She  must  think,  she 
must  think!  And  yet  her  thoughts  were  always  in  a  cir- 
cle. Otto  overtook  her  near  the  house,  and  seized  her 
wrist  in  an  iron  grip. 

"Just  a  minute,  young  lady,"  he  said  hotly.  "VHiat 
did  you  mean  with  your  little  trick  this  afternoon.?" 

"Otto,  please!  You're  hurting  me!"  Olga  made  an 
attempt  to  withdraw  her  hand. 

"And  what  of  that?  You  can  hurt  me,  perhaps,  and 
make  a  fool  of  me  before  the  English  girl,  without  having 


A  Bird  of  Passage  135 

to  pay  for  it?  Vm  too  wise  for  you,  I  shan't  permit  it. 
If  I  must  train  you,  I'll  begin  now. 

"Say  you  are  sorry  you  gave  me  that  match!"  He 
gritted  his  teeth  and  tightened  his  grip  on  her  wrist  until 
she  could  almost  feel  the  bones  crunch  and  she  thought  it 
would  not  be  possible  to  keep  from  crying  out  for  the  pain. 
"Say  it,  you  little  devil !" 

And  at  last,  to  be  free,  she  whispered,  "I'm  sorry.  I 
really  thought  you  could  hold  it  without  being  burnt." 
With  a  nod  of  satisfaction  he  dropped  her  hand. 

"So!  That's  better!"  But  tears  were  gathering  in 
Olga's  eyes  and  she  broke  away  to  run  into  the  house. 

Otto  looked  after  her  reflectively.  "Gott!  What  a 
creature.  It  takes  such  a  one  as  I  to  tame  her,  but  it  is 
worth  the  effort.  I'd  give  the  world  to  break  that  spirit 
and  teach  her  not  to  think  she  can  toss  me  aside  like  a 
piece  of  dirty  gold  braid." 

in 

In  a  strange  turmoil  of  spirits  Olga  dressed  for  dinner. 
She  had  never  before  in  all  her  life  felt  so  miserably  alone. 
Here  was  a  decision  she  must  make  without  help  from 
anyone.  Least  of  all,  she  dared  not  ask  Aunt  Alix,  partly 
because  she  felt  that  Aunt  Alix  would  only  too  gladly  tell 
her  to  follow  the  dictates  of  her  heart.  But  since  the 
scene  with  Otto  in  the  garden  there  was  a  new  fear  driving 
her  on  and  on.  Through  dressing,  she  stood  for  a  moment 
beside  the  bureau,  fingering  the  enameled  locket  on  its 
silver  chain.  "Promise  me  you  will  wear  it  always?"  a 
voice  came  back  to  her  through  the  silence.  He  had  known 
well  enough  what  she  meant  when  she  had  said,  "I  should 


136  A  Bird  of  Passage 

want  to  wear  it  always."  What  he  had  told  her  this  after- 
noon left  the  next  step  entirely  for  her.  He  would  be 
waiting  in  the  French  garden, — and  after  that, — the  swift, 
strong,  beautiful  flight.''  She  fastened  the  locket  reso- 
lutely about  her  throat,  and  turned  to  go  down  stairs. 

Out  in  the  dusk  of  the  garden  Victor  was  waiting.  Now 
it  would  be,  or  never !  Would  love  strengthen  the  heart  of 
this  girl,  his  little  bird  of  passage  whose  wings  had  once 
been  so  sadly  bruised.''  If  she  would  trust  herself  to  him, 
vowed  Victor  silently,  looking  up  at  the  pale  evening  sky 
where  a  few  faint  stars  glowed,  he  would  cherish  her  with 
his  life,  even  as  he  had  told  her.  But  even  he  could  not 
tell  her  in  words  what  years  of  love  would  bring.  He 
walked  softly  up  and  down  one  of  the  narrow  paths,  and 
suddenly  at  a  turn  saw  her  before  him  in  the  way,  her 
gown  a  blur  of  light  color  in  the  shadows.  They  stood 
silent  for  an  instant,  face  to  face. 

"You  see,  I  have  come  to  you,"  Olga  said  at  last, 
and  faintly.    Victor  stepped  toward  her. 

"I  wanted  to  tell  you,"  he  began,  haltingly ;  but  at  the 
sense  of  her  nearness  a  wave  of  emotion  smothered  the 
words  in  his  throat.  Another  step  and  his  arms  were 
about  her,  his  lips  crushed  against  hers.  With  the  per- 
fume of  the  night  mingled  the  fragrance  of  her  hair  and 
the  intangible  sweetness  of  herself.  "Beloved,"  he  said, 
holding  her  away  that  he  might  look  into  her  eyes  with 
his  own  radiant  with  a  smiling  tenderness. 

"You  look  at  me  as  though  I  already  belonged  to  you," 
she  whispered,  pouting  her  lips  in  a  half-smile,  her  eyes 
opening  widely  upon  him.  The  hour  had  come.  She  had 
followed  her  heart,  beating  so  wildly  now;  and  this  was 


A  Bird  of  Passage  137 

love!  Shyly  she  looked  up  at  him  once  more  before  her 
eyes  closed  for  his  kiss. 

Victor  threw  his  head  back  and  softly  laughed  his  joy 
to  the  skies. 

"Oh,  you  wonder  of  the  world !"  he  cried,  and  took  her 
to  his  heart. 


CHAPTER  IX 


Through  the  exercise  of  a  great  deal  of  self-control, 
Victor  and  Olga  survived  the  ordeal  of  dinner  that  eve- 
ning. Victor  had  told  her  before  they  left  the  garden 
that  he  would  see  Lady  Middleton  and  Sir  Alfred  at  the 
first  opportunity,  and  the  necessity  for  careful  manoeuver- 
ing  gave  them  both  a  steadying  thought.  Yet  ever  and 
again  brown  eyes  and  blue  sought  each  other  across  the 
table  for  the  comfort  of  a  long,  understanding  glance; 
ever  and  again  one  or  the  other  of  two  hearts  beat  faster 
at  the  sound, of  a  voice  already  grown  beloved. 

Two  others  in  the  company  noted  Olga's  preoccupation 
and  had  their  own  explanatory  theories  to  advance.  Alix 
had  chanced  to  overhear  the  conversation  between  Otto 
and  Olga,  having  come  up  by  a  garden  path  behind  some 
shrubbery  the  moment  von  Lainz  seized  her  wrist.  Furi- 
ously indignant,  Alix  had  listened,  determined  to  go  to 
Olga  at  the  dressing  hour,  but  not  having  found  her  had 
concluded  that  she  was  away  by  herself  somewhere,  brood- 
ing over  Otto's  brutality  and  its  significance  for  the 
future.  Hence  the  seriousness  of  her  expression,  though 
Alix  couldn't  quite  account  for  the  furtively  tender 
glances  sent  toward  Victor, — unless  the  girl  entertained  a 
hopeless  fancy  for  him.     Why  could  he  not  have  come 

138 


A  Bird  of  Passage  139 

into  her  life  earlier,  thought  Lady  Middleton,  heartsick 
with  the  whole  wretched  business.  But  Otto's  theory  was 
more  complacent.  The  little  one  had  been  properly  repri- 
manded, even  as  he  had  said  she  should  be,  and  with  the 
anticipated  result.  He  need  not  mention  the  more  or  less 
embarrassing  affair  of  the  match  to  Countess  Hohenwald, 
since  he  had  successfully  demonstrated  his  knowledge  of 
the  proper  treatment  of  this  woman.  Consequently  he 
began  a  flirtation  with  Alice  Corning,  and  pointed  his 
mustaches  more  frequently  than  usual,  thinking  as  he 
twisted  the  waxy  ends  that  the  quiet  little  Baroness  von 
Kranz  as  he  saw  her  now  was  lovely  as  any  man  could 
desire.  Strange  to  say,  a  flood  of  compassion  and  regard 
as  genuine  as  he  might  feel  for  anyone  surged  over  him 
with  compelling  warmth,  and  even  Otto  had  his  moment 
of  noble  resolve,  however  late  it  had  come,  and  however 
fleeting. 

Finding  that  Victor  appeared  only  for  a  few  minutes 
after  dinner,  Olga  wandered  restlessly  about  the  drawing 
room  and  as  soon  as  she  might,  escaped  upstairs,  where 
she  undressed  and  got  into  bed.  How  would  this  life  of 
hers  develop,  she  thought.?  What  would  happen  now  she 
had  given  her  love  to  this  splendid  stranger  ?  But  he  was 
not  a  stranger,  she  reminded  herself,  recalling  the  poetry 
of  his  confession  of  love,  the  thrilling  call  of  his  heart, 
"Sweetheart,  you  do  remember?'*  Lying  there  in  the  half- 
dark,  one  hand  tightly  held  against  the  lips  his  lips  had 
touched,  she  knew  content,  believing  that  this  lover  of 
hers  would  in  some  way  take  her  safely  to  happiness ;  he 
would  be  victor  in  fact,  as  well  as  in  name.  Then  sud- 
denly she  started  broad  awake  to  find  her  Aunt  Alix  sitting 


14)0  A  Bird  of  Passage 

on  the  bed  beside  her  and  a  soft  light  burning  in  the 
room. 

"Oh,  I'm  sorry,"  she  exclaimed,  sitting  upright  and 
brushing  the  dark  hair  from  her  forehead.  "I  must  have 
dropped  asleep." 

"Yes,  dear,"  Alix  agreed.  "Do  you  know  what  time 
it  is.f*  .  .  .  Half -past  twelve,  and  no  one  else  is  stirring." 
She  looked  at  Olga,  smiling  the  knowledge  to  which  she 
had  not  yet  confessed.  The  girl,  smiUng  back,  was  sud- 
denly aware  of  the  reason  for  this  unusual  visit. 

"Aunt  Alix,"  she  whispered,  "do  you  know?  Has  he — 
has  Victor  told  you.'*"  Steadily  and  bravely  she  looked  at 
Lady  Middleton,  though  blushes  made  her  cheeks  glow. 

"You  darling,  no  wonder  he  loves  you,"  answered  Alix, 
drawing  close  the  slender  young  figure  in  its  white  gown. 
On  one  bare  shoulder,  slipped  free  of  the  sheer  muslin  and 
lace,  she  pressed  an  impulsive  kiss.  "Now  I'U  tell  you, 
after  you  have  read  this  note."  And  there  lay  before 
Olga  her  first  love  letter  addressed  in  the  characteristic 
writing  she  had  already  learned  to  recognize. 

"Dearest,"  it  began  simply,  "there  is  so  much  to  tell 
you!  ^y  heart  is  fairly  bursting  with  longing  to  have 
you  know  all  that  is  there  for  you  of  love  and  joy  and 
yearning  and  tenderness.  I  could  write  forever  without 
telling  it  aU.  I  can  only  say  that  I  love  you,  how  much 
perhaps  the  years  will  let  you  know.  I  wish  I  could  say 
it  to  you  now, — what  Mrs.  Browning,  whose  sonnets  I 
shall  read  to  you  some  day,  calls  'the  silver  iterance.'  See 
how  it  looks, — *I  love  you,  I  love  you !' 

"But  there  is  so  much  to  be  done.  Lady  Middleton  will 
explain  to  you  what  has  happened,  and  when  you  read 


A  Bird  of  Passage  141 

this  I  shall  already  be  on  my  way  to  London.  Do  you 
know  how  I  hated  to  leave  you,  even  for  this  brief  while? 
If  you  think  of  me,  dear  heart, — see  how  modestly  I  say 
it, — if  you  think  of  me,  remember  that  the  thought  of  you 
is  always  in  my  soul. 

"Good-by,  beloved,  until  I  see  you  again.  All  my  love 
to  you, — Victor." 

Tears  came  to  her  eyes,  and  for  a  while  she  sat  gazing 
straight  ahead  conjuring  up  a  vision  of  this  man  who 
loved  her  so  much.  But  presently  she  turned  to  Alix, 
waiting  with  quiet  understanding  until  she  should  have  fin- 
ished the  note.  "Victor  says  you'll  tell  me  what  hap- 
pened.   Why  has  he  gone  to  London?" 

"He  spoke  both  to  me  and  to  Sir  Alfred  this  evening, 
my  dear.  It  was  touching  to  hear  him,  for  I  understand 
now  that  his  mother  is  not  living  and  the  family  connec- 
tion is  quite  small  and  scattered.  He  loves  you  very  much, 
Olga,  and  I  believe  he'll  always  be  gentle  and  kind.  It 
was  rather  dreadful  at  first,  I'll  admit,  to  think  of  you 
going  off  to  Canada,  but  after  all  it  couldn't  be  worse 
than  for  you  to  go  back  to  Vienna.  I  overheard  what  the 
Colonel  von  Lainz  said  in  the  garden  this  evening.  He's 
a  beast ! 

"Knowing  that  the  time  is  short,  Victor — ^he's  asked  me 
to  call  him  so — and  Sir  Alfred  have  gone  up  to  London  to 
arrange  affairs.  You  will  be  married  before  the  Countess 
and  Colonel  von  Lainz  return  to  Vienna."  Wide-eyed 
Olga  looked  at  her  aunt. 

"Aunt  Alix,  they  can't  ever  gain  Aunt  Soscha's  consent ! 
She'd  send  me  back  to  the  convent.  Please  don't  let  her 
do  that !    You  know  I'd  rather  die  than  go  there  again !" 


142  A  Bird  of  Passage 

Olga  flung  her  arms  convulsively  about  her  aunt,  who 
smoothed  her  hair  and  murmured,  "There,  there,  darling! 
We'll  take  care  of  all  that.  The  only  question  is  whether 
you  love  the  boy  well  enough  to  go  across  the  sea  with 
him." 

"There  isn't  anyone  in  the  world  so  wonderful.  I'd  go 
anywhere  with  him  if  he  wanted  me." 

"All  right !  And  now  you  must  promise  me  something. 
If  you  want  to  marry  Victor,  we  can't  have  the  Countess 
and  Colonel  von  Lainz  so  much  as  suspect  our  plans.  So 
will  you  let  Sir  Alfred  and  Victor  and  me  take  care  of 
things,  dear.''  Will  you  trust  us  to  work  everything  out 
in  the  best  possible  way. J'  You  mustn't  be  frightened  and 
you  mustn't  worry  if  we  can't  tell  you  every  little  detail, 
because  there's  so  much  to  be  done  between  now  and 
Wednesday.  We're  expecting  you, — Victor's  expecting 
you, — to  be  the  bravest,  pluckiest  girl  in  the  British  Isles." 

"Oh,  I  shall  be.  Aunt  Alix.  But  it  will  be  so  dreadful 
to  have  a  secret  from  Aunt  Soscha.  I'll  be  afraid  most 
of  the  time  that  she'll  read  my  mind  and  guess  what's 
going  on  inside  my  heart."  Olga  reached  out  suddenly 
toward  a  table  by  her  bed  whereon  Otto's  ring  sparkled 
magnificently.  "I  leave  the  ring  out  in  plain  sight  every 
evening,"  she  said.  "I  wish  a  thief  would  break  in  and 
take  it.  Now  I  can  throw  it  in  a  comer  and  say  that  I 
lost  it."  She  raised  her  arm,  but  Alix  caught  it  just 
in  time. 

"Darling  heart,"  she  chided,  "don't  do  that.  Can't  you 
see  why  you  should  wear  the  ring  now  if  you'd  never 
worn  it  before?  It  will  disarm  the  Countess  to  see  it  on 
your  finger.    If  you  left  it  oflP  someone  would  be  sure  to 


A  Bird  of  Passage  143 

mention  the  fact.     We  can't  afford  to  overlook  a  single 
tinj  detail." 


Monday  morning  Alix  announced  to  the  house  party 
preparing  to  go  up  to  London  that  their  host  had  been 
obliged  to  leave  by  a  much  earlier  train.  "Sir  Alfred 
wished  me  to  make  his  apologies,  and  tell  you  that  an 
unexpected  bit  of  business  made  it  absolutely  necessary 
for  him  to  return  to  the  city.    He  was  very  sorry." 

Soscha  took  the  tidings  ungraciously.  "What  have  we 
always  thought  at  the  Burg?"  she  asked  Otto,  who  was 
more  inclined  to  enjoy  the  absence  of  the  "Britishers," 
having  noted  that  Victor  had  also  disappeared.  "English 
society  has  absolutely  no  finesse.  And  Sir  Alfred  calls 
himself  a  gentleman !"  To  himself  Otto  was  thinking  what 
he  had  known  of  certain  houseparties  elsewhere  at  which 
the  host  had  only  too  often  remained  after  the  rest  left 
to  entertain  a  special  "guest"  who  might  or  might  not 
have  been  one  of  the  previous  party.  Verily  there  were 
gentlemen  and  gentlemen ! 

in 

To  make  up  for  lost  time,  Soscha  rushed  Olga  to  the 
shops  immediately  upon  their  arrival  in  London.  All  day 
long  there  were  fittings  of  every  sort, — suits,  several 
cloaks,  blouses,  and  hats;  and  between  whiles  when  Olga 
was  resting  there  were  accessories  to  select, — undergar- 
ments, handkerchiefs,  gloves,  and  dozens  of  articles. 
Soscha  was  determined  to  take  her  niece  home  with  the 
most  startling  array  of  garments   and  outfittings  that 


14!4  A  Bird  of  Passage 

had  been  seen  in  Vienna  for  some  years,- — in  fact,  not 
since  Julie  Auersperg,  then  the  young  Julie  Dietrichstein, 
had  returned  with  her  trousseau  from  Paris.  By  tea-time, 
which  found  them  at  a  fashionable  boot-maker's  in  Regent 
Street,  Olga  was  worn  limp,  and  left  with  the  most  im- 
perfect idea  of  what  her  finished  wardrobe  would  be  like. 
Little  doubts  were  creeping  into  her  mind  and  nestling 
there, — horrid  little  thoughts  like  maggots  burrowing  into 
a  firm,  rosy  fruit  to  spoil  its  goodness.  Olga  was  tired, 
and  being  so  she  began  to  doubt  that  even  Victor  could 
accomplish  the  task  he  had  set  for  himself  of  surmounting 
obstacles  apparently  unsurmountable.  From  among  these 
clothes  she  had  been  trying  on  might  as  well  be  selected 
a  shroud,  since  all  her  hopes  and  longings  would  be  buried 
if  she  could  not  marry  Victor.  Life  would  be  a  mockery 
without  him,  but  she  did  not  believe  he  could  save  her. 
All  these  beautiful  dreams  would  vanish  and  Otto  would 
establish  his  dominion  over  her,  but  not  a  dominion  of 
love,  such  as  Victor  knew  it. 

Back  at  Middleton  House  dinner  was  not  a  cheerful 
meal.  Everyone  was  tired  and  Olga  moodiest  of  all.  She 
had  expected  some  word  of  encouragement  from  Alix  or  a 
message  through  her  from  Victor,  but  Alix  had  not  come 
until  just  before  dinner  and  there  had  been  no  time  for 
conversation.  Lady  Middleton  had  put  in  a  full  day  in  the 
shops  herself.  Among  other  things,  from  the  vaults  at 
Mappin  &  Webb,  she  had  obtained  a  string  of  pearls  be- 
longing to  Olga's  mother  and  which  had  been  left  with 
Michael  about  a  year  before  the  news  of  Marie's  death  had 
come  when  Alix  was  visiting  at  Pskov.  She  had  taken  the 
necklace  to  London  with  her,  and  intended  now  to  give  it 


A  Bird  of  Passage  145 

to  Marie's  daughter  on  her  wedding  morning.  From  Sir 
Alfred  Lady  Middleton  learned  that  Victor  had  accom- 
plished marvels  of  planning  and  arrangement  and  that  he, 
Sir  Alfred,  had  been  helping.  With  everything  consid- 
ered, and  the  bothersome  fear  in  the  back  of  her  mind 
that  Soscha  might  suspect,  there  was  small  wonder  that 
Alix  was  tired. 

Despite  all  this,  Soscha  was  a  trifle  suspicious  of  Olga's 
moodiness.  Now  that  the  time  for  returning  was  so  near, 
she  would  have  wished  the  girl  to  be  brighter,  even  though 
her  physical  body  had  been  wearied.  Otto,  who  had  been 
at  Middleton  House  for  dinner  (on  Soscha's  invitation 
only)  reassured  her  loftily. 

"Don't  be  disturbed,  my  dear  Countess,  for  the  girl  is 
a  little  balky.  I  understand  women  fairly  well,  and  this 
one  particularly.  She'll  be  all  right,  once  it's  necessary 
to  be  firm;  she  might  as  well  have  her  head  now  and  be 
moody  if  she  likes."  Otto  had  dismissed  Olga  from  the 
conversation  with  little  compunction,  having  been  more 
interested  in  the  "settlement,"  which  had  not  hitherto  been 
settled.  If  the  dashing  Colonel  was  to  appear  before  the 
world  a  married  man,  he  meant  to  be  paid  well  for  the 
honor  bestowed  upon  the  woman  he  should  make  his  wife. 
At  the  present  time  was  short  and  nothing  definite  had 
been  done.  True  enough  a  sum  had  been  mentioned,  but 
Otto  was  not  one  to  accept  anyone's  word  in  such  a  mat- 
ter; so  he  had  a  long  talk  with  Countess  Hohenwald  and 
in  the  end  had  her  assurance  that  the  first  day  they 
reached  Vienna,  the  transaction  would  be  completed. 

It  was  not  an  especially  light-hearted  young  woman 
who  awakened  in  Middleton  House  next  morning.     Olga 


146  A  Bird  of  Passage 

now  firmly  believed  that  all  hope  of  marrying  Victor,  of 
going  out  to  the  dear  little  house  in  Canada  with  him,  had 
vanished.  This  last  day  of  her  intensely  eventful  visit 
in  London  would  be  spent  in  going  for  final  fittings  with 
her  Aunt  Soscha.  Little  by  little  the  new  trunks  at  Middle- 
ton  House  had  been  filling,  and  there  remained  perhaps 
enough  clothes  to  fill  another.  Wearily  Olga  dressed  in 
some  of  the  fresh  new  things,  and  wearily  turned  to  go 
downstairs  when  her  two  aunts  came  in. 

"Lady  Middleton  has  been  very  kind  to  us,  dear  Olga," 
began  Soscha,  "and  because  this  is  our  last  day  here,  I 
have  consented  to  let  you  go  with  her  this  morning.  The 
fittings  are  comparatively  unimportant,  and  you  two  can 
manage  nicely,  I  am  sure."  Alix  prayed  with  all  her  heart 
that  Olga  might  not  be  surprised  into  the  expression  of 
too  much  enthusiasm,  but  to  her  relief,  Olga  seemed  only 
mildly  pleased. 

"That's  very  nice,  I'm  sure.  Aunt  Soscha.  Shall  we 
see  you  at  luncheon?" 

"I  think  not.  I  have  an  appointment  at  Kensington 
Palace.  After  that  Otto  wants  me  to  go  with  him  to 
select  a  special  gift  for  you.  Isn't  he  a  thoughtful  young 
man.-*    You're  a  very  lucky  girl,  Olga." 

**Yes,  Aunt  Soscha,"  answered  Olga  obediently.  Alix 
writhed  at  the  tone  of  heartless  acquiescence.  She  came 
toward  the  girl  now  and  bade  her  hold  out  one  hand,  into 
which  she  poured  the  faintly  iridescent,  and  soft-gleam- 
ing stream  of  the  necklace. 

"They  were  your  dear  mother's,"  she  said  gently.  "I 
wanted  you  to  have  them  before  you  went  away." 


A  Bird  of  Passage  \^1 

For  a  moment  Olga  stood  looking  from  her  aunt's  face 
to  the  luminous  heap  of  jewels,  her  eyes  adream.  But 
again  she  said  nothing,  save  to  thank  Alix  in  a  quiet 
little  voice.  "May  I  put  them  on  and  wear  them  to-day?" 
she  asked,  almost  timidly. 

Alix  was  about  to  consent  when  Soscha  said  abruptly, 
"My  dear!  How  can  you  ask?  When  you're  going  for 
fittings  you  can't  have  jewelry  around  your  neck.  Of 
course  you  can't  wear  them  to  the  shops.    It's  ridiculous." 

"Give  them  back  to  me,  dear,"  said  Alix  quickly.  "Have 
you  any  objection,  Countess  Hohenwald,  if  I  let  her  put 
the  necklace  on  when  she  is  quite  through  with  fittings? 
It  would  mean  something  to  her,  I  know,  to  wear  it  for 
a  while  to-day.  Will  you  permit  it,  if  I  give  you  my  word 
that  she'll  wait  until  we're  done  shopping?" 

"I  shouldn't  mind.  Surely,  she  may  put  it  on  when 
you  are  ready  to  come  home." 

On  the  way  to  Worth's  in  Hanover  Square,  Olga  slipped 
Otto's  ring  from  her  finger  and  put  it  in  her  bag.  "I 
shan't  wear  it  another  minute  more  than  I'm  obliged  to," 
she  declared.  "If  Aunt  Soscha  objects  to  having  me  wear 
pearls  when  I  go  shopping  of  a  morning,  I  shan't  wear 
diamond  rings,  either.  Especially  not  this  hateful  one." 
Alix  smiled  and  said  nothing,  biding  her  time. 

About  half -past  eleven  Olga  had  just  put  on  a  trim- 
looking  blue  traveling  suit.  Alix's  whim  had  been  to  see 
her  completely  dressed  in  the  costume,  even  to  the  gloves 
and  a  smart  little  hat.  "I  shan't  see  you  in  these  things 
again,"  she  explained.  But  when,  with  a  pathetic  little 
sigh,  Olga  put  her  hands  up  to  take  oflP  the  hat,  Alix 


148  A  Bird  of  Passage 

stopped  her,  "Wait,  dear,  just  one  moment,"  and  from 
her  bag  drew  out  the  string  of  pearls.  "Let  me  fasten 
these  and  we'll  be  ready  to  go." 

*'0h,  I  can't  wear  this  suit  back  to  Middleton  House, 
Aunt  Alix,"  protested  Olga.  "It's  to  be  the  suit  I'll  wear 
away  after  I'm  married.  Aunt  Soscha  would  think  I'd 
be  profaning  it  to  put  it  on  before." 

"That's  quite  true,  darling.  But  you're  going  to  be 
married  within  the  hour.  There's  a  motor  waiting  for  us 
downstairs." 

Wide-eyed  with  wonder  Olga  stared  at  her  aunt,  a  cold 
thrill  of  excitement  tingling  from  her  head  to  her  feet. 
With  one  hand  she  grasped  the  edge  of  a  dressing  table 
and  steadied  herself  with  the  touch  of  hard,  unyielding 
wood.  Then  it  was  not  a  dream.  Olga  looked  down  at 
herself,  then  at  the  reflection  in  the  glass.  Yes,  she  might 
go  to  him  unashamed;  but  for  the  matter  of  that  she 
would  have  gone  in  rags,  imploring  him  to  take  her.  "Tell 
me  again,  Aunt  Alix !"  she  begged  at  last. 

"Yes,  darling,  within  an  hour  you'll  be  Mrs.  Victor 
Stanbury  Renfrew !  We  must  get  along.  They're  to  meet 
us  at  St.  Paul's  down  in  the  city.  You  sail  at  two  on  the 
Justmia/n.  That's  why  we  chose  St.  Paul's  in  Covent 
Garden  to  be  nearer  the  docks." 

"Am  I  to  sail  for  Canada  this  afternoon?"  Olga's  eyes 
shone  with  delight.  "How  perfectly  exciting!  What  "wiU 
Aunt  Soscha  say.?" 

Alix's  lips  tightened.  "Whatever  she  has  to  say,  my 
dear,  she'll  say  to  me.  You  needn't  think  of  that.  Come 
along,  now!" 

In  the  motor  was  a  huge  box  bearing  a  florist's  label. 


A  Bird  of  Passage  14»9 

**Your  bridal  bouquet,  dear,"  said  Alix;  "but  you  can't 
have  it  until  we  reach  the  church." 

Olga  sat  quietly  as  they  sped  across  Piccadilly  Circus 
into  Coventry  Street.  "Aunt  Alix,  you  can't  begin  to 
know  how  miserable  I've  been  since  Sunday  night,"  she 
said  at  last.  "I  didn't  believe  you  could  possibly  keep 
Aunt  Soscha  from  knowing  about  Victor  and  me." 

"Bless  your  heart!  I've  half  a  mind  to  chide  you  with 
verses  about  'ye  of  little  faith';  but  just  remember  that 
Aunt  Soscha  isn't  the  only  person  in  the  world  who  can 
make  plans  and  carry  them  out,  too.  We  mustn't  con- 
gratulate ourselves,  however,  until  you  two  children  are 
safely  aboard  the  Jtistinian. 

"And  by  the  way,  there'll  be  a  trunk  on  the  boat  for 
you  with  a  fair  assortment  of  things  from  this  trousseau 
of  yours.  I'm  obliged  to  plead  guilty  to  having  helped 
myself  to  a  few  of  the  new  clothes.  But  you  see.  Countess 
Hohenwald  ordered  them  for  your  trousseau  and  she  can't 
very  well  object, — especially  after  you've  gone  off  with 
them."  A  naughty  little  gleam  of  satisfaction  and  joy 
twinkled  in  Alix's  eyes,  as  she  patted  Olga's  hand.  "Don't 
worry  about  clothes !" 

**Why  are  you  so  kind  to  me?"  asked  Olga,  suddenly 
saddened  at  the  thought  of  leaving  this  kinswoman  of  hers. 
"I'm  such  a  queer  person."     Tears  filled  her  eyes. 

"There,  there !"  said  Alix  cheerfully  enough,  though  her 
own  heart  was  heavy.  "We  can't  have  tears  on  your  wed- 
ding day!  Don't  you  suppose  I  love  you?  That's  why 
I'm  kind  to  you, — if  you  put  it  so." 

Soon  they  were  in  King  Street  at  a  side  entrance  to 
the  church  where  Sir  Alfred  and  Victor  were  waiting, 


150  A  Bird  of  Passage 

handsome  and  erect  in  their  formal  dress.  It  was  a  tense 
moment  when  the  four  went  into  the  chapel  and  stood  at 
last  before  the  clergyman.  Through  the  dusky  arches 
the  faint  murmur  of  the  impressive  service  drifted  in 
broken  phrases, — "not  to  be  entered  into  unadvisedly  or 
lightly — reverently,  discreetly,"  and  so  until  the  last  bene- 
diction "that  in  the  world  to  come  you  may  have  life 
everlasting."  Then  Olga  was  in  Victor's  arms  once  more, 
held  close  for  a  long  kiss. 

Tears  were  in  her  eyes  as  they  turned  toward  Alix  and 
Sir  Alfred,  who  said  cheerily,  *'Now  it's  my  chance  to 
kiss  the  bride.  Don't  be  a  stingy  beggar  on  your  weddin' 
day,  m'lad !"  But  in  Alix's  arms,  Olga  sobbed  unrestrain- 
edly. The  hours  of  waiting  and  suspense  had  been  long; 
she  was  overwrought  with  excitement  and  the  surprises  of 
the  day.  With  her  face  buried  like  a  little  girl's  in  the 
laces  over  Alix's  heart,  Olga  clung  nevertheless  tightly 
to  Victor's  hand,  and  presently  the  sobbing  ceased.  It 
was  a  tearful  moment  all  around,  with  Alix  frankly 
wipmg  her  own  eyes  and  Sir  Alfred  not  above  making  a 
swift  dab  or  two  with  his  handkerchief.  Victor  was  all 
solicitude  and  tenderness.  But  a  distraction  came  when 
the  clergyman  ventured  to  suggest  that  they  step  into 
the  vestry  and  sign  the  register,  so  there  came  sun  after 
the  shower,  and  congratulations. 

"  *The  groom's  gift  to  the  bride,'  as  they  say  in  the 
States,"  said  Victor,  drawing  from  a.  little  velvet  box  a 
ring  set  with  clustering,  sparkling  diamonds,  which  he 
slipped  on  Olga's  finger  above  the  gold  of  her  wedding 
ring. 


A  Bird  of  Passage  161 

"That  reminds  me,"  said  Sir  Alfred.  "Alix,  my  dear, 
where  did  you  put  that  box?"  And  there  was  in  Olga's 
hand  his  present  of  a  diamond  necklace,  the  finely-cut 
stones  pendant  in  a  row  from  a  slender  gold  chain.  Alix's 
present  appeared,  too,  a  curiously  designed  bracelet  of  the 
small  white  stones  set  between  narrow  bands  of  onyx. 
"You  see,  we've  brought  the  crown  jewels  for  the  queen," 
laughed  Sir  Alfred. 

"You  dear,  dear  people!"  answered  Olga,  a  quick  sob 
catching  at  her  throat.  "How  can  I  ever  thank  you.'' 
These  wonderful,  wonderful  things !" 

A  new  leather  handbag  for  Olga  enclosed  a  substantial 
sum  of  money.  As  she  transferred  a  trinket  or  two  from 
the  bag  she  had  been  carrying.  Otto's  ring  gleamed  from 
the  depths. 

"Oh,  Aunt  Alix !  Take  this  ring,  please !  Give  it  back 
for  me  and  tell  Aunt  Soscha  and  Otto  that  I'm  sorry  if 
I've  had  to  hurt  them.  The  best  thing  they  can  do  is  to 
forget  me." 

Thoughts  of  the  Austrians  cast  a  momentary  quietude 
over  the  group,  until  Sir  Alfred,  looking  at  his  watch, 
said,  "We've  got  to  look  alive  here!  If  you  don't  catch 
that  boat  there'll  be  the  deuce  to  pay." 

At  the  pier  there  was  no  time  for  Alix  and  Sir  Alfred 
to  go  aboard.  The  whistle  warning  visitors  ashore  had 
blown  just  before  they  arrived,  so  they  might  only  stand 
on  the  dock  and  wait  until  the  young  people  came  out  on 
deck  above  them.  With  heavier  hearts  than  they  dared 
admit  they  watched  the  beloved  children,  for  so  both  older 
ones  had  come  to  regard  Olga  and  Victor.  All  was  well 
with  them,  Victor  looking  never  so  proud  and  happy  and 


162  A  Bird  of  Passage 

01ga*s  eyes  shining  with  love  and  joy.  With  her  hand 
through  her  husband's  arm  she  waved  good-by  until  the 
steamer  had  taken  them  down  stream  and  their  faces  were 
lost  in  a  blur  of  white  and  black  and  the  variegated  colors 
into  which  the  passengers  were  dissolved  by  the  distance. 
But  at  least  the  parting  had  one  virtue ;  it  left  Alix  and 
her  companion  so  disconsolate  that  they  were  in  "fighting 
trim,"  ready  for  the  encounter  waiting  for  them  at  Mid- 
dleton  House.  Alix's  lips  were  set  in  a  firm  thin  line  and 
for  a  while  she  said  nothing,  her  eyes  wide  with  the  effort 
to  keep  back  the  tears. 

"Toffy  dear,"  she  said  at  last,  smiling  wistfully  at  the 
memory  of  those  brief  days  at  Twickenham  brought  back 
by  the  name,  "wasn't  it  worth  everything  just  to  make 
those  blessed  darlings  so  happy.?  Just  to  know  that  love 
like  theirs  still  lives  in  the  world,  in  spite  of  designing  and 
villainous  countesses  and  noblemen  ?" 

"Quite  right,  m'dear,  quite  right,"  he  agreed.  "But 
they'd  not  have  been  so  happy  if  you'd  not  taken  up  the 
cudgels  for  them.  You're  their  fairy  godmother  right 
enough." 

"But  without  you  here,  I'd  never  have  had  the  courage 
to  resist  Soscha  Hohenwald,  I  don't  believe.  That's  why 
I'm  being  cowardly  enough  to  take  you  back  home  with 
me  when  the  storm  breaks.  Though  I'm  ready  for  it, 
quite." 

IT 

And  the  storm  did  break  in  all  possible  fury.  Soscha 
and  Otto  were  having  tea  in  the  drawing  room  when  the 


A  Bird  of  Passage  163 

other  two  entered,  and  noting  Sir  Alfred's  costume,  Otto 
said  with  casual  insolence,  "You're  rather  'toggy'  this 
afternoon,  if  I  might  be  permitted  to  observe,  as  you 
Britishers  say." 

"Haw!  Yes,"  answered  Sir  Alfred,  quietly.  "Been  offi- 
ciatin'  at  a  weddin'.  Just  been  seein'  the  bride  and  groom 
off.  Dare  say  you've  been  studyin'  up  quite  a  bit  on 
weddin's  and  that  sort  of  thing,  what?"  Otto  laughed 
indulgently. 

"Has  Olga  gone  to  her  room.  Lady  Middleton,  without 
stopping  in  to  speak  to  me  ?"  inquired  Soscha. 

"No,  she's  not  in  her  room,"  replied  the  other,  mean- 
ingful repression  in  her  tone. 

Soscha's  eyes  narrowed  and  their  pupils  contracted 
until  only  the  steely  blue  showed  through  the  lids.  "May 
I  trouble  you  to  ask  where  she  is,  then?"  Her  voice  was 
chilly  and  polite,  for  Soscha  scented  danger. 

"At  this  moment  I  have  every  reason  to  believe  that 
Mrs.  Renfrew  is  a  passenger  aboard  the  Justinian^  which 
must  be  some  little  distance  toward  the  sea  by  now." 
Alix  looked  steadily  at  Soscha  and  Sir  Alfred's  sharp  eyes 
roved  from  one  to  the  other  of  the  three.  Soscha  stiff- 
ened as  though  she  had  had  an  electric  shock  and  Otto 
put  his  tea  cup  down  suddenly  on  the  tabouret  at  his 
elbow.  A  tinkle  of  the  impact  of  china  against  the  wood 
sounded  sharply  through  the  quiet  room. 

Soscha  was  stunned  by  the  news,  but  years  of  training 
in  rigid  court  etiquette  came  to  aid  her  now.  "Will  you 
be  kind  enough  to  tell  me,  please,  exactly  what  has  hap- 
pened?'* 


154  A  Bird  of  Passage 

"Just  what  you  have  inferred "  began  Sir  Alfred, 

thinking  to  save  Alix.  But  Soscha  turned  on  him  like 
an  animal  at  bay. 

"You'll  be  good  enough  to  be  quiet,"  she  hissed  between 
her  teeth.  "I'll  have  the  story  from  Lady  Middleton,  if 
you  please."    Alix  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"After  all,  she  was  my  little  girl  as  much  as  yours, 
Madame,"  she  said  thoughtfully;  "and  I  couldn't  see  her 
suffer.  God  only  knows  what  you've  really  done  to  her 
poor  starved  soul  in  these  past  years  she's  been  with  you. 
If  she  had  married  as  you  wished,  begging  Colonel  von 
Lainz's  pardon,  her  spirit  would  have  been  quite  utterly 
broken.  For  poor  Marie's  sake  I  couldn't  sit  by  without 
wanting  to  save  Olga.  So  when  this  young  man  wished 
to  marry  and  take  her  away  with  him  to  a  new  life  in 
Canada  I  had  no  choice  other  than  to  help  her. 

"They  were  married,  Olga  and  Mr.  Renfrew,  in  St. 
Paul's  at  noon  to-day  and  they've  sailed  for  his  home  in 
Brockton.  There's  not  much  more  to  say,  save  that  I 
took  the  liberty  of  having  a  trunk  packed  with  some  of 
her  new  clothes  and  sent  to  the  steamer." 

"Mein  Gott!"  shouted  Otto,  suddenly  springing  to  his 
feet.     "If  you  were  a  man!" 

"Von  Lainz!"  Sir  Alfred's  voice  snipped  the  syllables 
crisply.  "You  needn't  shout  so.  Remember  that  I'm  here 
to  answer  for  anything  said  to  Lady  Middleton." 

"So  I  see,"  von  Lainz  sneered.  "  'Been  officiatin'  at 
a  weddin'!  You  think  you're  damned  clever,  all  of  you. 
I'U  show  you  that  I  can  go  out  and  get  a  woman  any- 
where I  please  in  London !    D'you  think  I've  been  wasting 


A  Bird  of  Passage  156 

my  time,  eh?"  He  snarled  the  question.  "If  Hohenwald 
here  hadn't  been  so  cautious  about  the  settlement,  I 
shouldn't  have  been  as  careful  as  I  have.  But  I  was  a 
fool,  I  suppose,  for  committing  myself  before  I  had  the 
money." 

Here  was  another  blow  for  Soscha,  with  her  only  ally 
thus  brazenly  deserting  her.  This  countryman  of  hers 
after  all  was  only  the  shell  of  a  man.  The  girl's  in- 
stinct had  told  her  truly.  Where  then,  was  the  use  of 
rage  and  fury.''  If  she  must  retreat,  crushed  and  defeated, 
Soscha  thought,  at  least  she  could  go  with  dignity. 
Without  so  much  as  a  glance  at  Otto,  who  stood 
with  arms  folded,  tapping  the  floor  with  one  foot,  she 
rose. 

"If  you  will  excuse  me,"^he  said  quietly,  "I  shall  go 
to  my  room  and  pack.  You  may  understand.  Lady 
Middleton,  that  I  cannot  stay  longer  under  your  roof.  Ill 
only  trouble  you  to  have  a  message  sent  to  Kensington 
Palace. 

"What  you've  done  I  should  have  prevented  with  all 
my  power  if  I  had  known.  I  have  my  own  reasons  why 
the  girl  should  stay  in  Vienna.  I  should  have  known  bet- 
ter than  to  trust  any  human  being  so  completely."  She 
made  no  other  reference  to  Otto's  behavior. 

They  were  all  standing,  and  Alix  said  gently,  "My 
household  is  at  your  command.  Tompkins  will  see  that 
your  message  is  delivered  at  once.  ...  If  I  could  tell  you 
how  regrettable  my  part  is  in  this  affair."  It  was  almost 
terrible  to  see  this  other  woman  so  humbled. 

But  Soscha  silenced  her  with  a  motion  of  the  hand. 


166  A  Bird  of  Passage 

She  wanted  neither  pity  nor  sympathy.    "Good  evening," 
she  said  simply  and  went  out  of  the  room. 

Von  Lainz  looked  after  her,  then  bowed  stiffly,  his  heels 
clicking  together,  and  without  a  word  either  to  Alix  or 
Sir  Alfred,  also  went  out.  The  faint  slam  of  the  street 
door  came  to  the  two  who  were  left. 


CHAPTER  X 


Desperately  ra  love  as  he  was,  in  the  course  of  their 
journey  across  the  ocean  Victor  had  the  joy  of  watching 
his  bride  change  from  a  quiet,  rather  saddened  girl  into 
a  light-hearted  young  woman,  with  an  abundance  of  new 
dignity  and  loveliness  which  quite  transfigured  her. 
Withal  there  was  an  almost  elfin  charm  that  at  times 
made  Victor  want  to  reach  out  and  touch  her  to  be  cer- 
tain she  would  not  vanish  before  his  adoring  eyes.  Every- 
one on  the  Justmian  came  to  know  the  young  couple  and 
more  than  one  smoking-room  acquaintance  of  Victor's 
presumed  upon  the  casual  connection  for  an  introduction 
to  little  Mrs.  Renfrew.  She  was  filled  with  curiosity  about 
the  ship  and  must  be  taken  even  through  the  kitchens, 
into  the  hold  and  the  steerage,  where  she  began  a  scan- 
dalous flirtation  with  a  starry-eyed,  grimy  little  Italian 
lad  of  three,  to  whom  she  subsequently  delivered  most  of 
the  huge  steamer  basket  from  Alix  and  Sir  Alfred 
which  the  bride  and  groom  had  found  in  their  stateroom. 
"Sparks,"  up  with  the  wireless,  let  her  listen  in  when 
Victor  had  suggested  sending  a  radiogram  back  to  Aunt 
Alix  in  England,  and  even  taught  her  to  click  off  *'GM 
73,"  by  way  of  greeting  one  morning.  It  was  also  the 
first  time  that  Olga  had  been  among  people  who  spoke 
only  English,  and  consequently  there  began  her  adven- 

157 


158  A  Bird  of  Passage 

tures  with  English  and  American  idiom,  such  as  her  ex- 
periences in  London  had  not  brought. 

So  they  came  at  last  to  the  new  world,  steaming  into 
the  Gulf  of  the  St.  Lawrence  and  up  the  picturesque  cliiF- 
bordered  river.  At  Halifax  and  Quebec,  where  they  dis- 
embarked, there  were  short  sight-seeing  excursions,  but 
it  had  been  too  early  for  the  Murray  Bay  season  to 
lure  them  further  afield  and  Victor  wrote  to  his  house- 
keeper that  they  would  come  directly  to  Brockton. 

Their  reservations  had  been  made  for  Thursday  on  a 
night  train  west,  and  with  a  truly  English  horror  of  haste 
and  no  intention  of  wasting  time  waiting  for  a  train  to 
start,  Victor  did  not  hurry  to  the  station.  His  entourage 
now  included  a  little  Pekinese,  Kwang  Shu,  who  had  been 
presented  as  a  wedding  gift  by  a  friend  of  Victor's  in 
Quebec.  "Sleeping  cars"  like  these  were  new  con- 
trivances to  Olga,  and  when  Victor  suggested  putting  the 
dog  and  his  basket  in  the  baggage  car,  she  objected 
prettily.  "But  the  poor  little  Kwang  must  sleep,  too," 
she  pouted,  with  a  smile.  "He  will  be  quiet  in  his  basket. 
Please  let  me  keep  him  with  us.  He's  a  wedding  present, 
dearest!"  W^hich,  with  a  caress,  settled  the  matter  for 
Victor.  But  railroad  officials  were  less  tender-hearted, 
and  when  Kwang  essayed  the  most  gentle  bark  in  the 
world  just  as  the  Renfrews  were  established  in  their 
drawing-room,  a  conductor,  passing  through,  stopped  to 
ask  whether  there  was  an  animal  in  the  basket.  Wide- 
eyed,  Olga  looked  from  him  to  Victor,  who  answered  that 
it  was  only  his  wife's  little  dog.  The  conductor  might  have 
comprehended  the  situation  enough  to  let  whatever  blame 
there  might  be  fall  upon  this  young  man  for  smuggling  a 


A  Bird  of  Passage  169 

dog  into  his  compartment,  since  it  was  fairly  reasonable  to 
suppose  that  in  the  seclusion  of  the  drawing-room  the  dog 
would  cause  little  annoyance  to  other  passengers ;  but  the 
misanthropic  trainman  had  no  time  for  sentimental  ex- 
ceptions to  company  rules:  dogs  belonged  in  the  baggage 
car,  and  this  one  must  go  there  without  more  ado.  The 
casual  fingering  of  a  bill  on  Victor's  part,  and  Olga's 
blandishments  had  no  effect :  dogs  belonged  in  the  baggage 
car.  So  Victor  was  obliged  to  leave  the  car  with  Kwang 
in  the  basket  and  go  after  an  extra  check. 

"Don't  be  away  long,  Victor,"  pleaded  Olga.  *1 
should  be  frightened  to  be  left  alone."  They  said  fare- 
well as  though  he  were  going  on  a  long  journey,  and  Olga 
prepared  to  watch  from  the  window  and  count  the  min- 
utes until  he  should  return. 

Suddenly  through  the  crowd  she  saw  a  little  dog  pro- 
gressing sedately  toward  the  car.  It  was  Kwang  Shu, 
nosing  here  and  there,  but  always  coming  nearer  and 
nearer.  What  if  someone  should  take  him?  She  got  up 
and  rushed  out  to  the  platform  just  as  the  dog  ap- 
proached, sniffing  the  air.  "Kwang!  Vien!"  she  called 
softly,  and  was  rewarded  by  a  glad  little  bark.  "Ssh! 
Little  beast !"  she  reprimanded.  "You  bark  again !  The 
conductor'll  hear  and  put  us  both  from  the  train.  But 
where  is  Victor?  Why  did  you  run  away?"  Kwang  only 
wriggled  with  joy  and  said  nothing,  so  Olga  smuggled  him 
swiftly  back  into  the  drawing-room  and  once  more  sat 
down  to  wait. 

Then,  before  her  handsome  husband  could  come  striding 
along  the  platform,  there  was  a  noiseless  turning  of  wheels 
and  the  train  began  to  move.    In  a  panic  Olga  started  to 


160  A  Bird  of  Passage 

her  feet.  Had  Victor  missed  the  train?  Was  this  to  be 
a  repetition  of  the  Berlin  affair,  without  the  appearance 
of  the  gracious  gentleman  of  that  first  episode?  And 
surely  it  was,  since  town  and  country  slipped  steadily  past 
and  no  Victor  appeared.  But  at  least  she  had  Kwang 
Shu,  cause  of  all  the  trouble,  for  company  and  for  a  while 
she  practised  thrusting  him  under  the  seat  and  covering 
him  with  the  steamer  rug  to  accustom  the  dog  to  such 
treatment  in  case  a  trainman  should  knock.  Soon  some- 
one came  for  tickets  and  finding  her  without  any  heard 
her  story  politely  enough  and  went  off  for  a  diagram  of 
the  car,  to  prove  whether  or  not  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Victor  S. 
Renfrew  were  supposed  to  be  in  drawing-room  A.  Con- 
vinced that  her  story  was  true,  this  more  obliging  con- 
ductor showed  Olga  how  to  order  dinner  brought  to  her 
compartment. 

She  missed  Victor  dreadfully;  she  worried  about  him 
and  was  afraid  for  herself,  too.  Principally  she  was 
afraid  because  of  sudden  consciousness  that  there  were 
strange  creatures  on  this  train,  great  tall  men  with  shin- 
ing black  faces,  who  went  swiftly  to  and  fro.  Olga  had 
seen  a  dark-skinned  person  but  once  in  her  life,  at  a  court 
performance  of  "Othello"  in  one  of  the  Viennese  theaters, 
so  her  association  of  thought  was  not  altogether  quieting 
when  these  fearsome  men  were  seen  going  back  and  forth 
through  the  car.  She  nearly  died  of  terror  when  one  of 
them  came  to  bring  her  a  menu  card,  but  the  genial  con- 
ductor had  been  in  the  drawing-room  and  she  felt  that 
he  would  protect  her.  This  negro  was  a  waiter,  it  seemed, 
who  grinned  a  great  deal  with  flashes  of  shining  white 


A  Bird  of  Passage  161 

teeth  and  deferential  nods  of  the  head,  and  was  very 
friendly  with  the  conductor.  But  Olga  was  utterly  in- 
capable of  enjoying  her  dinner  until  he  had  been  out  of 
her  room  at  least  ten  minutes. 

It  was  growing  late  when  she  rang  to  have  the  dishes 
taken  away,  for  she  had  hesitated  as  long  as  possible, 
dreading  to  bring  the  black  man  back  again.  Stiff  and 
watchful  she  sat  in  a  corner  of  the  seat,  one  hand  hidden 
in  the  folds  of  her  skirt  as  she  clutched  a  tiny  little  pearl- 
handled  revolver,  one  of  Victor's  gifts.  She  hadn't  learned 
how  to  shoot  yet,  but  he  meant  to  teach  her  for  protec- 
tion's sake  when  they  would  get  to  the  little  house  in  the 
woods. 

"Tha'U  be  all.  Miss.-"'  asked  the  waiter,  preparing  to 
leave  with  his  laden  tray. 

Olga  waved  her  hand  toward  the  door.  "Yes,  yes," 
she  said  hastily.  "Go  away !"  He  swung  the  door  wide 
to  remove  the  tray,  and  she  looked  beyond  him,  her  heart 
contracting  with  fear.  There  was  a  long  deserted  aisle 
of  loose-hanging  green  curtains  and  about  half-way  along 
a  white-haired  venerable  old  man  climbing  a  step-ladder. 
The  horror  of  it  was  that  another  of  these  black  men 
appeared  at  the  foot  of  the  ladder,  about  to  attack  the 
poor  old  gentleman,  who  seemed  to  be  scrambling  frantic- 
ally to  get  away  between  the  green  curtains.  Needing  to 
see  no  more,  Olga  rushed  out  of  her  room  and  down  the 
aisle,  flourishing  the  little  revolver. 

"Go  away,  go  away!"  she  commanded,  pushing  the 
porter  from  the  ladder.  The  old  man,  just  getting  into 
his  berth,  had  one  foot  stiU  on  the  top  step  when  Olga 


162  A  Bird  of  Passage 

mounted  and  took  hold  of  his  shoe.  "Come  back,"  she 
cried,  tugging  at  the  boot,  "you  mustn't  be  afraid.  I'll 
drive  him  away !    It's  all  right !    Come  down !" 

Astonished  almost  beyond  words,  the  gentleman  with- 
drew his  head  from  the  berth  and  looked  at  this  radiant 
young  woman  frantically  concerned  over  something. 
Heads  were  popping  out  from  between  the  curtains  all 
along  the  aisle  and  the  friendly  conductor  also  appeared, 
having  been  summoned  by  Olga's  wild-eyed  waiter  who 
thought  they  had  a  mad  woman  in  the  car.  "My  dear 
young  lady,"  the  gentleman  began,  trying  to  be  dignified 
as  his  collarless,  shirt-sleeved  state  would  permit.  "What 
seems  to  be  the  trouble?" 

Olga  turned  to  the  conductor,  waving  the  revolver  to- 
ward the  porter,  who  cowered  into  the  curtains  and  mur- 
mured, "Mah  Gawd,  Massa !  Doan'  let  that  woman  shoot 
me!  Mah  Gawd!"  his  teeth  clicking  between  his  thick 
lips. 

"The  black  man !"  gasped  Olga.  "He  was  chasing  this 
poor  old  gentleman  up  the  ladder.  I  saved  him  just  in 
time."  From  down  the  aisle  came  a  roar  of  laughter  as 
a  stout  traveling  salesman  collapsed  backward  on  his 
berth.  Even  the  old  man  smiled  gently,  as  Olga  looked 
about  in  bewilderment. 

"I'm  afraid  you  don't  quite  understand,"  explained  the 
conductor,  gently.  "Custis,  here,  is  the  porter.  He  was 
helping  this  gentleman  get  into  bed.  The  upper  berth 
there,  see!"  He  drew  the  curtains  apart.  "He's  going 
to  sleep  there." 

Now  Olga's  face,  quick  to  register  her  emotions,  filled 
with  compassion.    "Oh,  the  poor  old  man !"  she  said  softly. 


A  Bird  of  Passage  163 

"He  shouldn't  sleep  there!  If  he  hasn't  money  enough 
let  him  have  my  drawing-room  anyway.  I'll  sleep  in  that 
'upper  berth,'  you  call  it?"  And  the  conductor,  looking 
up  at  the  old  man,  who  happened  to  be  a  wealthy  M.P. 
coming  down  to  Ottawa  in  haste  and  unable  to  secure 
better  accommodations,  choked  with  dismay. 

The  M.P.  came  down  the  steps.  "My  dear,  gracious 
young  lady,"  he  said,  "I  presume  you're  a  stranger  in  our 
country,  but  for  all  that  I  appreciate  fully  your  consid- 
eration of  an  old  man,  whom  you  undoubtedly  regard  with 
the  veneration  you  would  feel  for  your  own  grandfather. 
I  couldn't  think  of  accepting  your  offer,  but  permit  me 
to  present  one  of  my  cards.  If  you  ever  dfesire  a  favor, 
pray  feel  that  I  am  under  obligation  to  you  for  your  ex- 
treme thoughtfulness  as  much  as  though  I  had  been  able 
to  accept  a  courtesy  at  your  hands."  With  the  engraved 
card  in  her  hand  Olga  was  chagrined  and  embarrassed, 
but  she  held  her  head  up  bravely.  It  was  nothing  of 
which  to  have  been  ashamed.  "Now  I'd  suggest  that  you 
go  back  to  your  drawing-room  and  get  to  sleep.  I  have 
daughters  of  my  own,  young  lady,  and  they  shall  hear 
how  thoughtful  a  beautiful  young  stranger  has  been  of 
their  old  fatlier." 

Then  suddenly  Olga  was  just  a  frightened  girl  again, 
who  had  made  herself  a  laughing  stock.  She  wanted 
Victor  with  all  her  heart,  wanted  him  to  tell  all  these 
people  to  go  away  and  then,  in  their  cozy  little  drawing- 
room,  to  take  her  in  his  arms  and  make  her  forget  every- 
thing but  how  much  they  loved  each  other.  "I'm  sorry," 
she  faltered,  at  last.  "I've  been  very  foolish.  I  think  if 
you'll  excuse  me,  I'll  go  back."     She  turned  and  went 


164  A  Bird  of  Passage 

quickly  into  her  room  and  shut  the  door,  leaving  outside 
a  little  group  of  the  curious,  half-amused  and  half-pity- 
ing, wanting  to  know  from  the  conductor  who  the  little 
woman  was. 

Custis,  the  porter,  chattered  volubly.  **Lordy,  Mars* 
Tupper,"  he  said  to  the  conductor,  "wha'  di'n  yoah-  take 
away  dat  rehvolveh  f'um  dat  girl?  Di'n  yo  all  see  how 
she  was  a-flourishin'  it  at  me?  Ah'm  gwine  be  powerful 
'fraid  if  she  rings  de  bell  any  to-night."  Wliereupon  the 
conductor  had  laughed  and  told  him  not  to  borrow  trouble. 

"She'd  never  hit  you  if  she  did  shoot  at  you.  You 
know  how  women  aim !" 

Olga  had  wept  a  little  on  Kwang's  collar,  more  glad 
than  she  could  say  for  the  comfort  of  something  alive 
and  warm  to  talk  to.  The  little  dog  wriggled  at  the 
touch  of  tears  on  his  neck  and  in  sympathy  shot  out  a 
soft,  pink  tongue  to  caress  his  mistress's  cheek.  Then 
the  conductor  himself  brought  a  telegram  dated  from  a 
station  just  passed.  "Following  by  first  train  to-morrow," 
it  read,  "will  meet  you,  dearest,  at  68  St.  James  Street, 
HOME,  darling!  Think  of  it!  Love,  Victor,"  said  her 
reckless  and  extravagant  lover.  Thus  assured,  and 
thrilled  to  think  that  she  was  going  "home,"  she  minded 
not  at  all  when  Custis  came  in  fear  and  trembling  to  make 
up  the  bed.  When  he  had  gone  she  went  tranquilly  on 
with  her  preparations  for  the  night  and  was  soon  asleep. 

Having  left  no  request  to  be  called  everyone  overlooked 
the  fact  that  the  young  lady  in  drawing-room  A  might  not 
have  awakened  in  time  to  dress.  Just  before  the  train 
came  into  the  Brockton  yards,  the  watchful  conductor 


A  Bird  of  Passage  165 

knocked  at  the  door  and  was  obliged  to  knock  again  be- 
fore a  sleep-filled  voice  answered. 

"I  beg  pardon,  Madame,  but  we'll  be  at  the  station  in 
five  minutes.     Weren't  you  called?" 

Olga  said  "Thank  you,"  and  tumbled  out  of  bed  in 
dismay.  Throwing  her  things  into  the  bag,  she  slipped  a 
skirt  over  her  sleeping  garment,  which  happened  to  be  a 
pair  of  pink  pajamas  chosen  for  traveling  wear.  Stock- 
ings went  on,  rolled  over  her  knees,  and  shoes;  her  hair 
went  up  in  a  quick  twist.  By  the  time  the  train  had  been 
stopped  for  a  few  moments  she  was  ready  to  go  out  in 
coat  and  hat  and  gloves,  outwardly  impeccably  clad  but 
no  one  knowing  how  sketchily  dressed  underneath.  It  was 
fearfully  uncomfortable,  going  along  the  platform,  Kwang 
brazenly  tucked  under  her  arm,  whilst  a  red-cap  took 
away  the  luggage  toward  a  cab.  She  had  a  feeling  that 
her  hair  was  stringing  in  wisps  down  her  neck  and  that 
her  stockings  were  in  sad  danger  of  slipping,  though  in 
reality  she  was  quite  presentably  smart-looking. 

The  cab-driver  clicked  up  his  horses  and  they  went  off 
through  the  streets.  Composed  enough  to  look  about  her 
as  they  went  along,  Olga  could  already  feel  the  charm  of 
this  Canadian  city  which  seemed  a  blending  of  old  and 
new  worlds.  A  bit  of  American  business  spirit  and  dash 
was  infused  into  the  soothing  quietness  of  its  distinctly 
English  atmosphere.  What  one  could  see  of  the  shops 
was  English,  the  people  on  the  streets,  and  the  houses 
themselves  were  typical  of  England,  yet  there  was  a  trace 
of  un-English  vitality  surcharging  everything.  Naturally 
she  could  not  analyze  this  at  once,  but  gradually  through 


166  A  Bird  of  Passage 

the  days  the  truth  came  to  her  and  she  felt  anew  the 
breathlessness  of  an  explorer  who  has  discovered  a  won- 
derful world  of  possibility.  How  far,  far  away  was  the 
velvet  and  golden  dust  of  Vienna !  Past  the  entrance  to 
Dominion  Park,  they  presently  came  to  St.  James  Street, 
with  the  university  campus  and  buildings  discernible  be- 
yond the  right.  No.  68  had  a  low  privet  hedge  and  a  semi- 
circular drive  that  led  to  the  pillared  portico  of  a  cream- 
colored  brick  house,  lighted  by  broad  windows  which  gave 
the  place  an  open,  friendly  look  rather  less  formal  than 
many  of  its  neighboring  dwellings.  But  incongruously 
there  was  no  air  of  readiness  about  it,  instead  a  disheveled 
tidiness  quite  like  Olga's  own  condition ;  outwardly  it  was 
a  well-ordered  house,  but  within  there  appeared  to  be  con- 
fusion. As  the  cab  stopped  beside  the  steps  Olga  caught 
sight  of  ladders  and  workmen,  paper-hangers  and  paint- 
ers; great  folds  of  canvas  billowed  over  the  hall  floor. 
In  response  to  her  ring,  a  buxom,  rather  elderly  woman 
came  to  the  door,  smoothing  her  apron  at  her  sides.  She 
opened  the  door  cautiously,  her  eyes  wide  with  astonish- 
ment. 

"Is  this  where  Mr.  Renfrew  lives?"  asked  Olga. 

"He's  not  in,  ma*am.  We're  not  expecting  him  until 
Monday  or  Tuesday."  The  housekeeper  looked  apprais- 
ingly  at  Olga,  who  threw  the  good  lady's  soul  into  alarm 
with  her  next  words. 

"There  aren't  any  rooms  ready  then?"  she  asked,  and 
in  response  to  the  other's  nod  said  simply,  "You  see,  I'm 
Mrs.  Renfrew." 

**Dearie  me!"  breathed  Mrs.  Braxton,  the  housekeeper, 
devoutly.     "Not  the  new  mistress  we've  been  a-dyin'  to 


A  Bird  of  Passage  167 

see?  Your  pardon,  ma'am!  I'm  that  excited!  And 
where's  the  master,  if  I  might  be  so  bold  as  to  inquire? 
We  were  expectin'  the  bride  and  groom  to  come  home 
together.  The  master's  letter  must  have  been  delayed. 
The  last  we  knew  you  were  to  come  home  by  the  third  of 
June.     Whatever  shall  I  do?" 

"I  know  who  you  are,"  annoimced  Olga.  "You're 
Braxton!  I've  heard  Vic — Mr.  Renfrew  speak  of  you 
often,  and  I'm  obliged  to  you  because  you've  taken  such 
care  of  my  husband  all  these  years.  You  were  his  nurse 
when  he  was  a  little  boy."  Braxton  was  obviously  flat- 
tered and  pleased.  Olga  continued,  "I  shan't  disturb  you 
at  all.  I'm  going  to  stay  in  a  hotel.  Mr.  Renfrew 
missed  the  train,  but  he'll  be  here  by  this  afternoon.  Which 
is  the  best  hotel?" 

Braxton  was  plainly  horrified  now.  It  wasn't  right 
and  proper  to  go  and  live  in  one  of  "them  hotels"  when 
one  had  a  home  to  go  to,  even  if  the  home  wasn't  in 
immaculate  order.  One  or  two  rooms  could  be  made  ready 
in  an  hour,  if  the  mistress  would  only  stay.  But  no! 
Here  was  some  of  the  freedom  Olga  had  longed  for! 
Besides,  she  didn't  want  the  servants  to  know  how  incom- 
pletely she  was  dressed ;  it  would  be  a  bad  first  impression. 
Here  was  a  decision  she  might  make  for  herself!  Off  to 
the  hotel  she  would  go.  "Queen's  Hotel,  you  say  it  is?'* 
Olga  was  down  the  steps  and  into  the  cab,  followed  by 
Braxton,  expostulating  all  the  way.  "No,  thank  you, 
Braxton !  Please  tell  Mr.  Renfrew  where  I've  gone  if  he 
calls  for  me  here ! 

"To  the  Queen's  Hotel,"  she  told  the  driver,  and  went 
merrily  off,  leaving  no  end  of  consternation  behind  her. 


168  A  Bird  of  Passage 


She  felt  very  grandly  independent,  registering  in  the 
sedate  old  hostelry,  requesting  a  spacious  suite  and  in- 
forming the  clerk  that  her  husband  would  join  her  within 
a  day.  The  clerk,  recognizing  the  name  of  Renfrew, 
tipped  off  the  news  to  a  young  newspaper  friend  of  his, 
and  before  Olga  had  been  in  her  room  scarcely  ten  min- 
utes there  was  a  call  on  the  house  telephone  to  say  that 
a  gentleman  wished  to  see  her.  But  after  some  confused 
questioning  and  answers  she  convinced  him  that  Mrs. 
Renfrew  had  nothing  to  sa,y  to  a  representative  of  the 
Sphere.  Olga  had  no  idea  what  such  a  person  was,  but 
on  the  general  principle  of  being  a  stranger  in  a  strange 
land  she  refused,  and  later  had  Victor's  congratulations 
for  having  shown  such  good  sense. 

By  noon  she  was  bathed  and  dressed  and  soon  after 
luncheon  had  the  supreme  joy  of  hearing  the  clerk's  voice 
announce  over  the  telephone  that  Mr.  Renfrew  was  on  his 
way  upstairs.  Even  as  she  answered  the  phone  there  was 
a  knock  at  the  door  and  while  Kwang  barked  inquiringly 
she  ran  to  meet  her  husband,  with  whom  she  must  have, 
through  the  afternoon,  many  breathless  moments  of  con- 
versation and  kisses  over  this  dreadful  experience  which 
had  separated  them  so  soon. 


CHAPTER  VI 


The  steady  pleasant  course  of  the  next  three  years  was 
marked  by  the  arrival  of  three,  or  rather  four,  visitors 
to  68  St.  James  Street,  each  of  whom  left  indelible  asso- 
ciations and  one  of  whom  remained.  Late  in  July,  1910, 
when  Victor  and  Olga  had  gone  to  the  little  house  in  the 
woods,  the  first  of  these  arrived,  the  only  one  Olga  was 
destined  not  to  see — the  one  who  might  have  changed  the 
whole  course  of  the  girl's  life  if  the  two  had  met.  For 
Soscha  Hohenwald,  more  broken  in  spirit  than  anyone 
could  guess,  had  determined  upon  a  desperate  measure :  at 
the  cost  of  every  scrap  of  pride  she  would  follow  her 
niece  to  Canada,  and  by  what  means  she  best  knew,  at- 
tempt to  persuade  her  to  return  to  Vienna.  Soscha's 
trump  card  was  not  an  ofFer  of  money,  nor  of  marriage,— 
rather  something  that  she  alone  knew  and  believed  rightly 
would  make  Olga  only  too  willing  to  go  back. 

Some  lectures  Victor  was  scheduled  to  give  for  the 
University's  business  administration  courses,  a  new  de- 
parture, had  been  arranged  for  the  summer  session  and, 
much  as  he  disliked  it,  he  was  obliged  to  come  into  the 
city  at  least  once  a  week.  It  so  happened  then  that  he 
stopped  at  No.  68  one  day,  according  to  custom,  to 
change  from  the  informal  dress  of  life  in  the  little  house 
to  something  appropriate  for  his  afternoon  lecture,  and 

169 


170  A  Bird  of  Passage 

from  Braxton  received  the  astounding  news  that  "a  lady 
who  called  herself  Countess  Hohenwald"  had  driven  over 
the  day  before  to  inquire  after  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Renfrew. 

"Are  you  perfectly  positive  about  the  name,  Braxton?** 
he  asked.     "And  where  is  she  staying?" 

"I  couldn't  say,  sir.    She  didn't  mention." 

All  through  the  lecture  Victor's  thoughts  were  far  away, 
and  a  nameless  dread  clutched  at  his  heart.  What  did  it 
mean — this  rather  theatrical  appearance  of  Olga's  aunt? 
Of  one  thing  Victor  was  positive;  he  would  use  force  if 
necessary  to  keep  his  wife  with  him:  he  had  not  saved 
her  from  that  beast,  von  Lainz,  for  nothing.  The  Countess 
must  be  a  devil  incarnate  to  have  come  'way  across  the 
ocean  after  the  girl.  Plan  after  plan  revolved  in  his  mind, 
but  he  could  settle  upon  nothing  definitely  since  he  had 
no  idea  of  the  direction  of  Soscha's  machinations.  The 
first  thing  was  to  get  back  to  Olga. 

After  some  time  the  lecture  ended,  and  Victor  escaped 
outside  to  find  his  wife  unexpectedly  waiting  for  him  in 
a  victoria,  with  a  thin,  amiable-looking  Scotchman  who 
was  also  the  Renfrews'  gardener,  in  charge  of  the  pair 
of  baysr  She  waved  her  parasol  to  attract  his  attention, 
and  as  he  came  nearer,  called  in  disappointment,  "Aren't 
you  glad  to  see  me?  It  was  so  warm,  even  at  the  little 
house,  that  I  thought  you  shouldn't  be  obliged  to  come 
home  in  a  train.  But  you  look  as  though  you  weren't 
pleased  to  see  me !" 

**Drive  out  along  Oak  Road,  will  you  please,  Mac- 
Iver?"  Victor  said  to  the  coaclunan-gardener,  and  seated 
himself  beside  Olga  in  the  carriage.  The  smile  in  his  eyes 
^nd  the  tenderness  in  his  voice  left  no  doubt  as  to  her 


A  Bird  of  Passage  171 

welcome.  "You  thoughtful,  beautiful  creature,"  he  said 
softly,  reaching  for  her  hand.  "Even  now  I  can't  believe 
that  you  belong  to  me,  really  and  truly.  You  can't  guess 
how  much  I  wanted  to  see  you.  Perhaps  that  was  why 
I  was  quiet  when  I  first  saw  you — but  it  wasn't  disap- 
pointment!" Again  the  distressed  look  flashed  into  his 
eyes. 

"My  dear,  what  is  it .''  Something  has  happened !  Tell 
me,  did  the  horrid  students  misbehave.'*" 

Victor  looked  intently  at  his  wife  before  he  directed  a 
sudden  question.  "Would  you  want  to  go  back  to  Aus- 
tria now  and  leave  me,  dearest .''" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Olga,  startled  as  a  fawn 
that  scents  danger  in  the  forest.  "My  dear,  of  course  I 
don't  want  to.  Haven't  I  left  all  that  for  you  who  are 
my  whole  life.''  Why  should  you  say  such  a  thing?"  A 
pause  charged  with  tension. 

"Only  this — that  Braxton  told  me  this  afternoon  that 
*a  lady  who  called  herself  Countess  Hohenwald'  had 
stopped  at  the  house  yesterday  to  inquire  for  us."  At 
the  name,  more  potent  than  the  old  witch  Baba  Yaga's  of 
those  far-gone  days  in  Russia,  Olga  seemed  to  go  limp. 
The  ruffly  pink  summer  dress  and  the  big  pink  hat  took 
suddenly  the  appearance  of  a  fragile  shell  within  which 
life  had  shriveled  and  died.  Into  the  brown  eyes  came 
fear  that  had  been  absent  for  many  weeks.  Victor  watched 
her,  sick  at  heart,  nevertheless  deciding  that  it  would  be 
best  for  them  both  to  talk  the  thing  out. 

"The  question  is,  my  dear,  whether  or  not  we  should 
see  her  if  she  comes  again.  Braxton  didn't  know  where 
she's   staying,   though  I   dare   say   that  would  be  easy 


172  A  Bird  of  Passage 

enough  to  learn.  Without  doubt  she  wants  to  take  you 
back  with  her  to  Vienna,  but  before  Heaven,  Olga,  I  don't 
mean  to  let  you  go," 

For  half  an  hour  or  more  they  were  driven  slowly 
through  the  quiet  avenues,  sun-flecked  and  spotted  with 
shadow  from  leafy  branches  arching  overhead.  At  last 
they  came  down  through  upper  St.  James  Street  with 
their  course  fixed.  They  would  stop  for  a  day  or  two 
at  68,  so  that  Countess  Hohenwald  might  not  be  given  the 
chance  to  trace  them  to  the  little  house,  too  precious  and 
memory-filled  for  curious  eyes  to  profane.  Then,  if  the 
Countess  repeated  her  call  in  town,  Olga  should  not  see 
her,  leaving  Victor  to  dissuade  the  lady  of  any  intention 
of  taking  her  niece  away.  It  was  rather  a  concession 
for  Olga  to  make,  since  in  spite  of  herself  there  had  been 
moments  when  she  longed  for  the  sight  of  her  stem-minded 
relative.  Alix  and  Alfred  had  both  written,  as  gently  as 
possible,  of  the  scene  in  the  drawing-room  at  Middleton 
House  and  Olga  was  sorry  for  her  Aunt  Soscha,  even  as 
she  was  angry  at  the  revelation  of  Otto's  rascality,  though 
it  justified  herself.  If  only  Soscha  had  been  otherwise, 
how  different  might  have  been  her  welcome. 

The  interview  came  more  quickly  than  they  had  ex- 
pected, for  tea  had  only  just  been  sent  in  that  afternoon 
by  Braxton,  who  always  had  it  ready  on  Victor's  lecture 
days,  when  the  Countess  Hohenwald  was  announced.  For 
one  instant,  Olga  wanted  to  fly  out  to  meet  her  aunt,  but 
a  glance  at  Victor,  piteously  and  perfectly  understanding 
the  conflict  in  her  mind,  made  her  start  toward  the  back 
parlor,  and  through  it  to  her  room.  "Tell  Aunt  Soscha 
that  I'm  sorry,"  she  whispered.    "And  remember  to  notice 


A  Bird  of  Passage  173 

how  she  looks — whether  she  seems  to  be  very  old."  Olga 
was  forced  to  betake  herself  away  at  once,  that  Victor 
should  not  see  the  tears  which  would  come,  try  as  she 
might  to  stop  them. 

Then  the  Countess  Hohenwald  had  been  ushered  in,  and 
her  nephew-in-law  was  surprised  to  see  in  her  manner  none 
of  the  old  contempt  for  himself,  but  instead  a  great  gen- 
tleness softening  the  blue  eyes,  and  making  her  lovely  to 
look  upon. 

"Madame,"  he  said,  bowing  low,  "will  you  be  seated, 
and  may  I  offer  you  tea?  The  tray  has  only  just  come 
in.  WUl  you  honor  me  ?"  He  motioned  her  toward  a  seat 
before  the  silver  service.  Soscha  murmured  a  word  of 
acceptance  and  sat  down — a  question  in  her  eyes  which 
Victor  chose  to  ignore.  When  little  matters  of  sugar  and 
lemon  had  been  settled,  Victor,  standing  beside  the  man- 
tel stirring  his  tea,  brought  the  purpose  of  her  call  into 
their  conversation. 

"To  what,  Madame,  may  I  ask,  do  I  owe  the  honor  of 
this  visit.?"  But  for  all  his  bland  words,  both  of  them 
knew  that  he  already  understood  the  answer. 

"Is  my  niece  not  in  town,  or  is  she  here  in  the  house?" 
asked  Soscha  directly,  mincing  no  words  according  to  her 
characteristic  speech. 

"We  had  both  been  away  until  this  afternoon  when  we 
learned  of  your  previous  call,"  temporized  Victor.  Soscha 
said  nothing,  looking  at  him  steadily,  waiting,  so  that  he 
was  obliged  at  last  to  relieve  the  situation  of  awkward- 
ness. "We  decided  quite  impartially  that  it  would  be  best 
all  'round  for  Olga  not  to  see  you." 

Still  Soscha  said  nothing,  her  eyes  wandering  over  the 


174  A  Bird  of  Passage 

little  drawing-room  with  its  cool  hangings  of  heavy  silk 
to  match  the  covers  over  the  velvet  upholstery  on  the  big 
carved  chairs.  It  was  a  home — this  place  where  books 
and  bits  of  bronze  and  glass  showed  appreciation  of 
beautiful  things.  And  love  must  be  there,  too.  Soscha 
knew  against  her  will  that  Victor  had  spoken  the  truth 
when  he  said  they  had  decided  impartially.  Olga  had  not 
been  bullied  nor  brow-beaten  into  staying  away.  The 
truth  was  bitter.  She  simply  did  not  want  to  see  her 
aunt.  Soscha  had  come  across  the  sea  only  to  be  defeated 
again,  though  she  was  in  a  sense  unconquered,  since  she 
could  still  go  back  with  her  secret  locked  in  her  heart. 

"Very  well,"  she  said  at  last.  "I  shan't  force  my  pres- 
ence upon  her.  I'll  return  to  Vienna  alone.  Tell  her,  if 
you  wiU,  that  her  friends  at  the  Hofburg  are  well. 

"And  how  is  she  herself?  Also  well,  I  trust — and 
happy?"  She  said  this  last  faintly  as  though  it  hurt  her. 
"You  love  her  very  much,  young  man?"  It  was  a  gentle 
question,  yet  for  a  moment  the  old,  indomitable  Soscha 
flamed  through  the  words. 

"Yes,  she  is  well,"  answered  Victor.  "And  we  are  very 
happy.  I've  never  apologized  to  you,  as  perhaps  I  should 
have,  for  taking  her.     But  I'm  sure  it  was  for  the  best." 

Instantly  the  Countess's  manner  changed.  She  was  dis- 
appointed and  angry — the  sweetness  gone  from  her  eyes. 
Victor  saw  at  once  what  he  had  done.  She  had  meant  to 
let  the  dead  past  bury  its  dead  and  he  had  dragged  up 
the  old  skeletons.  In  some  way  he  and  Olga  had  made  a 
mistake  in  judgment  which  could  never  be  rectified,  for 
the  Countess  seemed  to  have  been  definitely  and  cruelly 


A  Bird  of  Passage  175 

insulted.  She  rose  in  her  most  dignified  manner,  hiding 
the  humiliation  of  her  heart,  bleeding  afresh  from  all  the 
little  wounds  Victor  had  ripped  open.  She  had  not 
thought  it  possible  to  have  been  so  sadly  distressed.  Com- 
ing to  them  with  a  change  in  her  own  feelings,  she  had 
suddenly  discovered  that  the  impression  of  her  retained 
by  the  young  people  had  been  strengthened  in  all  its  un- 
pleasantness. All  her  life  she  had  played  a  losing  game. 
Her  husband  and  her  brothers  dead — ^now  this  blood  rela- 
tive, the  little  niece  with  Franzi's  eyes,  lost  to  her;  every- 
one on  whom  she  had  set  her  heart,  save  her  son  Giinther 
in  Vienna,  had  been  taken,  battle  hard  as  she  might 
against  fate. 

"It  is  a  long  way  to  have  come  for  this,"  said  she  at 
last,  slowly — almost  against  her  will,  rising  and  drawing 
on  her  gloves — a  striking  figure  in  some  sort  of  thin  sum- 
mery black  that  made  her  blue  eyes  more  blue  and  her 
gleaming  hair  more  tawny.  Victor  had  a  man's  inability 
to  note  costume  details,  but  he  was  satisfied  that  she  was 
well  and  looking  unusually  distinguished.  He  was  sorry 
with  all  his  heart  that  such  a  breach — hopeless  of  being 
bridged — lay  between  them.  And  presently  Soscha  Hohen- 
wald  was  gone — out  of  the  house  and  their  lives. 

From  an  upstairs  window  Olga,  watching  the  carriage 
drive  away,  had  seen  her  aunt  and  looked  at  the  familiar 
figure  with  longing,  remembering  those  other  years  when 
Soscha  had  first  dominated  her  life,  and  she  had  been 
prepared  for  a  passionate  adoration  of  the  older  woman. 
It  was  sickeningly  sad  to  sit  there  and  see  her  go.  It 
was  so  final,  this  separation,  that  to  Olga  it  seemed  worse 


176  A  Bird  of  Passage 

than  death.  She  crouched  in  a  big  chair,  her  head  down 
on  her  folded  arms,  and  sobbed  like  a  little  child.  There 
Victor  found  her. 

"My  own  little  sweetheart,"  he  said,  sitting  down  beside 
her  on  the  hergere^  stroking  her  shoulder  with  a  queer 
little  helpless  masculine  gesture.  Olga  reached  out  one 
hand  to  clasp  his  and  after  a  while  sat  up,  turning  toward 
him  and  wiping  her  eyes. 

"What  did  she  say?"  she  asked.  *'Did  she  want  me  to 
come  back?" 

"That  was  the  curious  thing  about  it,"  he  answered. 
"She  didn't  say  why  she  came.  After  she  found  straight 
off  that  you  were  in  the  house  and  hadn't  wanted  to  see 
her,  she  simply  told  me  that  she  wouldn't  force  her  pres- 
ence, but  would  return  to  Vienna  alone.  You  know  we 
expected  her  to  be  angry  and  rather  threatening,  but  she 
wasn't  that  at  all.  In  the  beginning  she  was  sweet  and 
gentle,  more  than  I'd  ever  seen  her  before.  Maybe  you've 
seen  her  so;  but  anyway  she  was  beautiful.  And  she'd 
quite  lost  that  air  of  ignoring  me  as  though  I  weren't  even 
fit  to  be  noticed.    I  can't  understand  it  yet." 

"But  what  did  she  say?"  Olga  smoothed  one  of  the 
pink  ruffles  abstractedly. 

"Not  much,  really.  After  that  it  was  just  to  tell  you 
that  your  friends  at  the  palace  in  Vienna  were  well.  Then 
she  asked  about  you, — whether  you  were  well  and  happy. 
She  wanted  to  know  if  I  loved  you  very  much."  A  faint 
smile  broke  over  Olga's  face  as  she  looked  shyly  at  Victor, 
who  must  gather  her  into  his  arms  and  kiss  her  lips,  her 
eyes,  even  the  soft  waves  of  her  hair  in  token  that  the 
honeymoon  had  not  yet  waned  and  grown  pale.    After  a 


A  Bird  of  Passage  177 

time  he  spoke  again,  ruefully.  "That  was  what  started 
her  away." 

Olga  withdrew  from  his  arms  and  sat  up.  "What  do 
you  mean?" 

"Simply  that  after  she'd  asked  me  if  I  loved  you  very 
much,  I  tried  to  be  polite  and  made  a  sort  of  an  apology 
for  having  gone  off  with  you.  I  never  saw  such  a  change 
in  any  human  being.  Like  a  flash  all  the  gentleness  was 
gone,  and  I  saw  that  I'd  hurt  her.  That,  and  having 
heard  that  you  wouldn't  see  her,  I  suppose,  was  too  much. 
I  think  we  didn't  realize  how  different  her  manner  was 
going  to  be.  I  saw  right  off  that  there  wasn't  any  use 
trying  to  help  matters  with  talk.  She  got  up  after  a 
moment  and  began  to  put  on  her  gloves.  'It's  a  long  way 
to  have  come  for  this,'  she  said  in  a  strange  forced  tone, 
and  then  we  both  bowed  in  an  awfully  ceremonious 
fashion  and  she  went  out  without  another  word. 

"Y'know,  I  confess,  the  thing's  rather  got  at  me  some- 
how." 

Olga  looked  off  into  space.  "I  wonder  if  we  should  have 
seen  her,  both  of  us." 

Victor  got  up  abruptly  from  the  chair,  his  brows  knit 
in  a  puzzled  frown.  "No,  I  don't  think  so!  You  know 
how  clever  she's  always  been  about  having  her  own  way. 
She  probably  counted  on  finding  us  a  pair  of  sentimental 
fools." 

He  walked  to  the  window  and  stood  idly  snapping  with 
one  finger  at  the  curtain  cord's  ring. 

"We've  always  got  to  remember  how  she  treated  you, 
sticking  you  in  a  convent  for  the  sake  of  that  puppy  Von 
Lainz,"  Victor  continued.     "What's  the  Bible  say  about 


178  -A  Bird  of  Passage 

leopards  and  Ethiopians  ?  Not  that  I'm  calling  her  either 
one,  but  I  mean  to  say  that  it  isn't  reasonable  to  assume 
that  all  of  a  sudden  she'd  change  into  another  kind  of 
a  person,  is  it? 

"You  didn't  know  what  a  pathetic  little  love  you  were 
when  I  married  you,  dearest.  The  Countess  had  abso- 
lutely squelched  all  your  spirit.  And  I  say,  after  all  the 
risks  we  took  to  escape  her  clutches,  we'd  be  a  couple  of 
blithering  idiots  to  play  right  back  into  her  hand  again." 

So  they  talked  until  the  warm  summer  dusk  closed 
around  them,  convincing  each  other  at  last  that  they  had 
done  the  right  thing. 

"I  wish  we  were  going  to  be  at  the  little  house  in  the 
woods  to-night,"  sighed  Olga.  "I'd  forget  so  much  better 
there." 

"Well,  why  not,  darling?  There'll  be  a  full  moon  and 
old  Maclver  knows  the  road  like  a  book.  We'll  have  din- 
ner here  and  start  back  about  nine.  Those  horses  can 
make  the  eight  miles  in  no  time  at  all." 

They  were  happy  as  only  young  things  can  be,  throw- 
ing off  their  forebodings  with  ease.  But  many  and  many 
a  time  each  wondered  secretly  why  Soscha  had  come,  and 
her  visit  was  not  to  be  forgotten,  working  like  an  in- 
sidious poison  where  they  might  least  suspect. 


By  a  year  from  the  following  August  the  second  visitor 
had  arrived — the  one  who  was  to  stay — a  tiny  lad,  with 
his  father's  blue-gray  eyes  and  a  firm  little  mouth  that 
already  seemed  shaped  for  strong  white  teeth  like  his 
mother's.    He  had  been  bom  early  in  the  month  and  was 


A  Bird  of  Passage  179 

brought  as  soon  as  possible  with  his  mother  to  the  little 
house  in  the  woods.  Alfred  Stanbury  Middleton  Renfrew 
was  his  name,  "miles  too  long  for  such  a  tyke,"  his  doting 
male  parent  had  declared.  "But  it  will  give  him  some- 
thing to  grow  up  to,'*  replied  his  mother.  And  Victor  had 
brought  a  funny,  leggy,  Airedale  puppy,  named  Punchi- 
nello, who  was  to  grow  up  also  and  be  the  boy's  dog. 
Every  boy  had  to  have  a  dog,  and  not  a  lady's  dog  either, 
like  Kwang  Shu,  "with  respect  speaking"  for  the  sagacious 
Kwang. 

m 

For  two  years  life  went  happily  on  before  the  arrival 
of  the  other  two  who  were  to  complete  this  strange  quar- 
tette. In  many  ways  Olga  had  grown  more  mature,  but 
there  seemed  certain  limits  of  growth  beyond  which  she 
might  not  go,  since  she  possessed  what  someone  has  called 
that  most  lasting  stamp  of  childhood — wonderment.  Try 
as  she  might,  there  were  many  things  to  which  she  could 
not  become  accustomed.  She  had  made  discoveries  in 
this  new  world  which,  one  after  the  other,  never  failed  to 
startle  her.  People  were  so  queer,  for  one  thing;  even 
over  in  this  glorious  Canada,  they  took  themselves  so 
seriously.  There  were  the  devious  ways  of  "society."  For 
the  time  being  she  was  absorbed  in  the  novelty  of  manag- 
ing a  home  of  her  own,  caring  for  her  sturdy  little  son, 
and  ever  watchful  for  Victor's  welfare,  but  on  those  occa- 
sions when  she  mingled  in  society,  she  was  impressed  with 
a  class  consciousness  altogether  unexpected  to  her. 
There  were  lords  and  ladies  in  Canadian  society, 
it  seemed,  who  were  the  acknowledged  leaders.     Olga  was 


180  A  Bird  of  Passage 

Secretly  amused  at  dinner  parties  and  receptions  to  see 
how  these  people  surrounded  themselves,  and  were  sur- 
rounded by  others,  with  pomp  and  circumstance — to  her 
mind  entirely  out  of  proportion  to  their  importance.  She 
heard  from  the  gossip  of  the  place  that  many  of  their 
titles  were  ridiculously  new,  and  realized  that  the  begin- 
nings of  their  oldest  aristocracy  had  come  back  in  the 
years  when  families  like  the  Hohenwalds  or  even  the  Alex- 
androvich  had  been  powerful  for  centuries;  it  was  all  so 
pitifully  comparative  and  she  felt  that  this  raw  nobility 
suffered  in  the  comparison.  However,  she  was  not  one  of 
them:  welcomed,  invited  about,  admitted  to  certain  in- 
timacies of  acquaintanceship,  but  never  entirely  accepted 
— not  having  been,  for  example,  a  Coningsby,  or  a  Hamil- 
ton, or  a  Gordon,  of  "the"  Coningsbys,  "the"  Hamiltons, 
and  "the"  Gordons.  Once  she  had  been  invited  to  a 
meeting  of  a  "patriotic"  society,  so  called,  and  had  felt 
more  insignificant  than  ever  when  someone  asked  her 
whether  any  of  her  own  ancestors  had  fallen  on  the 
Heights  of  Abraham.  Blissfully  ignorant,  she  essayed  a 
reply  which  highly  incensed  and  offended  her  interrogator, 
who  considered  it  "really  too  vulgarly  facetious,"  and  the 
reply,  spread  about,  had  prevented  the  standing  of  Vic- 
tor's ancestors  from  making  admission  easy  to  the 
charmed  circle.  But  of  all  this  Olga  was  quite  innocently 
unconscious. 

The  second  summer  after  the  baby's  birth,  the  Renfrews 
had  a  joint  letter  from  Alix  and  Alfred,  with  whom  indi- 
vidually they  maintained  a  regular  correspondence,  to 
say  that  they  were  to  be  married  in  a  week  and  would  sail 
for  Canada  on  their  hone3Tiioon.     Would  the  children  be 


A  Bird  of  Passage  181 

glad  to  welcome  Sir  Alfred  and  Lady  Sidney?  And  would 
they  kiss  the  precious  god-child  for  them  until  they  might 
see  him  with  their  own  eyes?  At  this  delightful  news  of 
course  many  plans  were  set  on  foot.  The  baby  would  be 
christened.  There  would  be  a  series  of  affairs  in  Brockton. 
And  then  perhaps  Victor  and  Olga  might  go  west  with 
the  Sidneys  for  a  brief  trip. 

"We  shan't  be  wanting  to  interfere  with  their  honey- 
moon," Victor  had  said.  "But  maybe  they  mightn't  mind 
having  us  along  for  a  while,  considering  that  they're  going 
on  around  the  world  and  aren't  coming  back  our  way." 

Victor's  friends  had  taken  to  calling  Olga  "the  little 
Austrienne,"  and  this  romance  between  her  aunt,  who  was 
a  Russian,  and  the  English  nobleman  had  interested 
society  enough  to  make  the  Sidneys'  visit  a  definite  success 
in  every  way,  for  Alix  and  Alfred  were  as  charming  as 
ever,  and  seemed  to  have  grown  younger,  if  anything,  in 
the  past  three  years.  Even  Lady  Pendleton  gave  a  pon- 
derous high  tea  in  her  big  mansion  on  the  hill — an  affair 
and  recognition  which  seemed  mysteriously  to  furnish 
Olga  an  "open  sesame"  hitherto  denied  her.  In  this  in- 
creasingly friendly  atmosphere  she  developed  afresh  like  a 
sun-warmed  blossom. 

After  a  month  in  Brockton,  the  four  started  for  the 
coast,  leaving  Baby  "Stan,"  as  he  had  begun  to  be 
called,  according  to  whatever  perverse  law  of  nicknames 
governs  such  things,  in  Braxton's  charge.  Olga  had 
made  Victor  promise  that  they  should  not  be  away  longer 
than  a  month  at  most,  yet  she  was  not  a  little  guiltily 
surprised  to  find  how  the  old  thrill  of  excitement  came  to 
her,  even  when  she  was  going  away  without  the  precious 


182  A  Bird  of  Passage 

baby.  "It  must  be  a  force  stronger  than  myself,"  she 
thought  aloud,  the  evening  of  their  departure,  as  she  bent 
to  kiss  the  sleeping  child.  Victor's  name  for  her,  first 
bestowed  in  the  little  French  garden  at  Twickenham — 
"Bird  of  Passage" — came  whispering  back.  "I  am  no 
longer  that,"  she  smiled  to  herself,  "so  safely  nested  here." 

IV 

Yet  the  thrill  of  excitement  was  curiously  interpreted 
through  an  experience  midway  in  their  trip.  No  one  else 
in  the  party  considered  the  incident  momentous  in  the 
least,  but  to  Olga  it  was  a  revelation.  For  the  party 
stopped  one  day  at  an  Indian  reservation  out  among  the 
Western  foothills  to  visit  what  appeared  a  little  gem  of  a 
settlement,  as  they  went  down  the  gentle  slopes  of 
a  green  valley  toward  the  little  houses  on  one  side  of 
a  swiftly  flowing  narrow  mountain  stream.  Olga  was 
aglow  with  excitement.  During  the  time  she  had  lived 
in  Canada  she  had  been  fascinated  to  learn  how  this  great 
country  had  once  been  the  home  of  a  noble  and  savage 
race  of  red-skinned  people  who  developed  high  ideals  of 
physical  perfection  and  lived  in  glorious  freedom  close  to 
the  warm  heart  of  Nature  herself,  taking  their  food  and 
shelter  almost  as  the  birds  and  beasts.  Often  she  had 
pictured  mentally  the  existence  of  an  Indian  dashing  over 
the  green  plains  almost  one  creature  with  his  fleet  horse, 
truly  a  son  of  the  prairies  and  lakes  and  mountains ;  and 
now  that  she  was  to  meet  these  primitive  beings  she  would 
find  in  them  the  personification  of  her  own  thoughts  and 
longings.     An   Indian   must  be  the   embodiment   of   life 


A  Bird  of  Passage  183 

stripped  down  to  its  essentials,  at  the  same  time  having 
those  elementals  beautified  and  strengthened  by  something 
generated  in  the  soul  through  this  overwhelming  and  in- 
tense love  and  knowledge  of  Nature.  Going  with  Victor 
and  the  others  over  the  forest  path,  she  visualized  a  race 
of  men  who  were  the  lithe  copper-skinned  likenesses  of 
Greek  statues — of  women  who  were  beautiful  as  Diana  and 
maternal  as  Vesta ;  indeed  a  race  of  gods  themselves. 

"We're  in  a  bit  of  luck,  bein'  able  to  see  the  reservation 
at  fair  time,"  said  Sir  Alfred.  "Though  this  particular 
spot  isn't  so  good  as  the  reservations  of  the  Cree  further 
north,  away  from  civilization  more  completely." 

"What  do  you  think  we  shall  see.'"'  asked  Olga,  with 
the  quick  eagerness  of  a  child. 

"Oh,  there'll  be  sweet  grass  baskets  for  sale — wooden 
toys  the  old  men  whittle  out,  leather  moccasins,  bead  work, 
and  such  things.  Maybe  there'll  be  a  rope-throwin'  con- 
test, with  some  fancy  horseback  ridin',  and  perhaps  even 
a  war  dance.  How  would  you  like  that?"  Victor  and 
Alix  were  smiling  at  the  enthusiasm  with  which  Olga 
greeted  Alfred's  words.  Alix  had  never  seen  any  red 
Indians  herself,  but  she  was  too  happy  and  contented 
with  her  present  state  of  general  existence  to  care  much 
about  them. 

"I  want  to  race  down  hill,"  said  Olga,  "We're  going 
along  so  stupidly  and  slowly.  Let's  hurry — ^I  want  to 
see  the  Indians !" 

They  were  obliged  to  leave  their  horses  with  some  others 
on  the  far  side  of  the  stream,  crossing  in  a  flat-bottomed 
boat  pulled  through  the  rushing  water  by  two  men  stand- 


184  A  Bird  of  Passage 

ing  at  bow  and  stem  and  tugging  hand  over  hand  along  a 
heavy  rope.  It  was  remarkable  to  watch  how  easily  the 
craft  was  propelled,  for  all  the  counteraction  of  the  cur- 
rent. Olga  never  looked  to  see  whether  or  not  these  men 
were  Indians.  She  knew  too  definitely  that  they  could  not 
be — dressed  in  shabby  corduroy  trousers  and  old  coats, 
with  soft  hats  pulled  down  about  their  ears.  Had  she  not 
read  that  Indians  wore  little  clothing,  and  that  chiefly  of 
animal  skins! 

Landing  at  a  muddy  little  dock  they  went  up  a  badly 
trampled  path  past  a  tiny  frame  shack  flying  the  Union 
Jack  from  a  pole  in  front,  to  a  street  that  stretched  a 
block  or  two  from  the  stream.  At  the  four  comers  thus 
formed  were  a  few  stores  like  those  in  any  country  town, 
and  on  the  doorsteps  lounged  a  number  of  men  silently 
watching  the  strangers  approach.  A  fat  old  woman, 
wrapped  in  a  faded  brown  shawl  waddled  into  a  grocery 
store  with  a  child  clinging  to  her  skirt.  All  the  buildings 
were  weather-worn  and  some  of  them  seemed  never  to  have 
been  painted.  Dust  lay  in  tracks  on  the  street,  whipped 
up  into  swirls  whenever  a  solitary  horseman  or,  as  now, 
someone  in  a  buckboard  came  along.  The  driver  in  this 
case  pulled  his  wagon  up  before  the  general  store  with  a 
flourish  of  the  reins  and  a  prancing  of  his  horses  that 
caused  dust  to  drift  in  clouds  toward  the  visitors. 

*'Jove!"  ejaculated  Alfred,  whipping  out  a  big  handker- 
chief. 

"Oh,  dear,"  said  Olga,  "Let's  get  away  from  this  dirty 
place.    I  want  to  see  the  Indians." 

Victor  asked  the  direction  of  the  fair,  and  was  rewarded 


A  Bird  of  Passage  185 

with  a  taciturn  grunt  and  a  non-committal  wave  of  the 
hand  in  reply.  "Off  that  way?"  he  asked  again.  "Come 
on,  folks,"  he  called,  turning  to  the  other  three.  "Down 
this  street,  I  guess." 

As  they  started,  Olga  said,  "Whatever  is  that  dreadful 
little  town.?"  and  was  told,  to  her  dismay,  that  it  was  the 
trading  post  for  the  reservation.  "Is  this  part  of  what 
you  call  the  reservation?" 

But  there  was  more  disillusionment  to  come.  A  quarter 
of  a  mile  further  along  they  reached  a  clearing  in  front  of 
a  little  church,  gray-boarded  and  shoddy-looking  like  the 
stores,  but  bearing  aloft  a  gilded  cross  on  the  roof's  peak. 

The  clearing  was  fringed  with  little  booths  and  tents, 
before  which  Indians  and  a  number  of  white  people,  in- 
cluding two  stalwart  members  of  the  Royal  Northwestern 
Mounted  Police,  were  walking  up  and  down.  At  one  booth 
a  large  group  of  men  stood  watching  some  of  their  num- 
ber throw  baseballs  at  a  row  of  swinging  wooden  dolls 
hung  against  the  rear  wall  of  the  tent.  "Here  yuh  are !" 
called  the  man  in  charge,  a  sunburned,  wiry  person,  vio- 
lently enjoying  a  quid  of  tobacco.  "Step  right  up,  folks. 
Watch  'em  throw  the  little  white  balls  at  the  little  white 
dolls.  Look  at  'im,  watch  that  guy!  A  few  more  like 
that  an'  he'll  put  me  out  of  business."  An  Indian  knocked 
three  dolls  prostrate  with  as  many  balls  thrown,  and 
stopped  to  receive  three  cigars  from  the  "barker." 
"Wha'didi  tell  you?"  the  latter  asked  of  the  world  in 
general,  "A  big  seegar  every  time  he  hits  the  baby.  He 
hit  Buffalo  Bill  on  the  nose  an'  he  turned  up  his  toes,  an' 
he  never  missed  'im!"     The  concessionaire  droned  the 


186  A  Bird  of  Passage 

last  in  a  nasal  singsong.  He  had  brought  his  "line" 
from  the  States  where  he  had  long  since  started  his 
nomadic  business. 

For  a  time  they  stood  on  the  edge  of  the  crowd,  listen- 
ing to  the  man.  "He's  so  vulgar  he's  quite  funny,  isn't 
he?"  said  Alix. 

"The  Indians  are  determined  to  shoot  him  out  of  cigars, 
it  seems,"  observed  Victor,  noting  the  steady  hits  with  a 
smile. 

Whereupon  Olga  exclaimed  in  a  startled  voice,  **In- 
dians?    Where  are  they?" 

"Darling  girl,"  said  Victor,  taking  her  arm  as  they 
turned  toward  a  shadier  lane  of  booths  on  the  far  side 
of  the  square  where  little  Indians  sprawled  and  rolled 
over  each  other  like  puppies  at  play.  "What  did  you 
expect  to  see?  These  are  the  Indians  all  around  here. 
They're  charges  of  the  government  now  and  enjoy  civili- 
zation like  the  rest  of  us.  They're  proud  as  Punch  to  be 
all  dressed  up  in  white  man's  clothes  and  live  in  houses." 

"Aren't  they  free  to  ride  about  the  plains,  to  hunt  and 
fish?  Haven't  they  any  country  of  their  own?  I  think 
these  people  are  pitiful." 

"You  see,  dear,  they  fought  with  the  white  men, 
wouldn't  let  them  advance  toward  the  west  at  all,  so  the 
pioneers  simply  had  to  take  the  country  away  from  them. 
They  hadn't  any  civilization,  compared  with  ours.  And 
this  is  the  way  we  have  to  teach  them.  They  have  schools 
and  colleges  now  and  are  given  every  possible  advantage." 

"Except  being  allowed  to  live  their  old  glorious  life," 
she  finished  for  him  sadly.    Victor  shouted  gently : 


A  Bird  of  Passage  187 

"I  believe  you  wanted  to  find  the  Indians  tearing  around 
in  skins  and  blankets,  with  feathers  in  their  hair." 

"And  why  not?"  she  questioned,  unconvinced  that  the 
old  way  was  not  after  all  the  best. 

During  the  day  they  "did"  the  fair  in  the  prescribed 
fashion,  buying  some  really  stunning  beaded  moccasins  for 
all  of  them,  including  a  tiny  pair  for  Baby  Stan  and 
some  carved  toys  his  god-parents  insisted  upon  having. 
Dinner,  or  what  went  for  a  mid-day  meal,  was  eaten  in  a 
structure,  part  tent,  part  house,  where  they  were  served 
with  palatable  stew  of  meat  and  vegetables,  and  a  less 
successful  berry  pie  for  dessert.  Two  or  three  tourists 
who  had  come  over  to  the  fair  ate  in  the  same  place,  waited 
upon  by  stolid,  disinterested  squaws  and  younger  women. 
Occasionally  an  Indian  man  looked  in,  grunted  a  few  un- 
intelligible words  to  one  of  the  squaws  and  went  away 
again.  After  dinner  the  four  went  out  into  the  sunlit 
clearing.  Alfred  had  discovered  that  there  would  be  a 
war  dance  at  two  o'clock,  and  took  the  personal  responsi- 
bility of  getting  his  party  there  in  time.  They  learned 
that  it  was  not  to  be  in  any  of  the  tents,  but  back  of  the 
largest  of  them  with  the  grimy  canvas  wall  for  a  back- 
ground, and  there  Olga  saw  six  men  between  the  ages  of 
forty  and  sixty,  she  verily  believed,  so  wrinkled  and  with- 
ered were  they,  clad  in  trousers  and  coats  of  limp  and 
stained  deerskin.  These  were  the  warriors,  and  their 
dance  was  merely  a  sort  of  prancing  about  in  a  circle,  the 
steps  punctuated  at  intervals  with  a  disheartened  whoop 
or  two  that  scarcely  raised  an  echo  from  the  neighboring 
wooden  walls;  at  intervals,  also,  one  of  the  Indians  beat 


188  A  Bird  of  Passage 

with  a  stick  on  a  tin  pie-pan  stamped  all  too  unmistakably 
across  the  bottom  with  the  name  of  a  well-known  baker  in 
Medicine  Hat. 

Coming  away  from  the  **war  dance,'*  which  Alfred  ad- 
mitted to  have  been  more  than  a  little  disappointing,  they 
met  a  big,  strapping  Indian  in  the  black  of  a  cleric  and 
rightly  supposed  him  to  be  curate  of  the  little  church.  "I 
beg  pardon,"  said  Victor,  stopping  him,  "but  will  you  take 
us  to  visit  one  of  the  homes  about  here.  My  wife  would 
like  to  see  one.  She  thinks  you  should  be  living  in  tents 
and  I  want  her  to  see  what  neat  little  homes  your  people 
have." 

"With  pleasure,"  replied  the  minister,  speaking  in  per- 
fect English,  to  Olga's  further  astonishment.  And  later 
she  learned  that  this  Mr.  Dunvegan,  the  curate,  had  been 
graduated  from  a  theological  school  in  Montreal. 

He  took  them  to  see  Mrs.  Wolf-with-a-Scarred-Face, 
who  lived  two  houses  from  the  church  and  who  had  just 
bought  a  new  American  washing  machine.  Several  of  the 
women  had  sewing  machines  by  this  time,  but  Mrs.  Wolf- 
with-a-Scarred-Face  was  the  first  squaw  on  the  reservation 
to  own  a  water-power  washer,  of  which  she  was  propor- 
tionately proud.  However,  her  little  cottage  was  not  im- 
maculate, according  to  01ga*s  and  Alix*s  standards  of 
cleanliness :  dirt  had  accumulated  in  comers  and  dust  was 
visible  in  little  rolls  under  a  huge  walnut  wardrobe  which 
shared  honors  of  the  parlor  with  the  washing  machine, 
conspicuously  placed  in  the  center  of  the  room  and  decor- 
ated, since  this  was  not  a  wash  day,  with  a  vase  full  of 
wild  berries  and  grasses.  Little  John  Wolf-with-a- 
§carred-Face  was  rolling  about  the  floor  when  they  came 


A  Bird  of  Passage  189 

in,  but  at  the  sight  of  visitors  collapsed  into  a  comer 
whence  he  could  not  be  lured,  even  with  a  shiny  penny  or 
a  striped  peppermint  from  Alfred's  private  store  of  in- 
digestion preventatives.  Mr.  Dunvegan  was  obliged  to 
expound  the  theory  of  operation  for  the  washing  machine, 
since  the  lady  of  the  house  was  stricken  dumb  with  awe 
and  shyness  before  these  guests  in  smart  English  riding 
togs,  though  she  privately  enjoyed  the  contemplation  of 
Alix's  skirt,  divided  in  a  strange  fashion  that  made  it 
seem  to  the  Indian  woman  like  a  pair  of  trousers.  Only 
last  year,  Mrs.  Wolf-with-a-Scarred-Face  remembered 
that  Mr.  Dunvegan  had  rebuked  fifteen-year-old  Minnie 
Broken-Tooth  for  going  down  to  the  post  in  a  deerskin 
native  outfit  of  loose  trousers  and  long  tunic;  it  was  not 
lady-like  to  wear  such  a  costume  in  public,  yet  here  were 
these  English,  dressed  like  an  American  woman  who  had 
come  to  see  the  reservation  a  week  before.  Certainly  civ- 
ilization was  a  strange  thing. 

The  guests  departed  soon  after,  leaving  with  Mrs.  Wolf- 
with-a-Scarred-Face  a  gift  of  two  shining  dollars  which 
Mr.  Dunvegan  explained  to  her  were  for  little  John's 
savings  bank.  It  was  growing  late,  so  the  curate  walked 
back  with  them  toward  the  four  comers.  On  the  way 
they  passed  a  cottage  where  an  old,  wizened  squaw  sat 
with  a  baby  in  her  arms.  Clouds  of  smoke  from  the  pipe 
in  her  mouth  encircled  her  head,  as  she  puffed  steadily 
as  a  steam  engine. 

"Oh,  look  at  that  old,  old  woman,"  cried  Olga,  grasp- 
ing Victor's  arm.  "Couldn't  we  take  her  picture?"  They 
had  used  only  one  or  two  films  that  day,  and  this  creature 
was  truly  a  fit  subject  for  a  snapshot. 


190  A  Bird  of  Passage 

"She's  a  Wyoming  Indian,'*  explained  Mr.  Dunvegan, 
"widow  of  an  old  warrior  named  Eagle-Strikes-Like- 
Lightning.  They  came  here  from  the  States  years  ago, 
after  Eagle-Strikes-Like-Lightning  had  fought  in  vain 
against  being  pushed  further  west  with  his  people.  When 
he  was  finally  captured  in  the  late  '80's,  they  burned  his 
strings  of  scalp  locks  and  though  he  wouldn't  show  it,  that 
really  broke  his  heart.  He  asked  to  be  sent  away  from 
the  Black  Hills  where  he  and  the  remnants  of  his  tribe  had 
been  taken.  That's  how  they  came  here,  and  this  is  where 
he  died  about  eight  years  ago.  His  squaw  is  the  oldest 
one  in  the  Province  of  Assinaboine.  I'll  speak  to  her  and 
see  if  she  will  let  you  take  her  picture.  She's  usually  quite 
cross  to  see  visitors  with  cameras."  He  stepped  into  the 
little  yard  and  spoke  a  few  words  in  a  native  tongue,  to 
which  the  old  lady  grunted  in  reply  and  muttered  an 
answer. 

"That's  interesting,"  commented  the  curate.  "She  says 
she'll  let  the  lady  with  the  white  teeth  take  her  picture. 
First  time  I  ever  knew  her  to  be  quite  willing." 

**A11  right,  Olga,"  said  Sir  Alfred,  opening  his  camera 
and  handing  it  to  her.  "Get  a  good  one."  Smiling 
with  pleasure  Olga  approached  the  old  woman  who  stirred 
not  at  all  as  she  came  nearer.  But  when  Olga  bent  her 
head  to  get  the  focus,  the  crafty  widow  of  Eagle-Strikes- 
Like-Lightning  drew  her  shawl  across  the  face  of  the  sleep- 
ing papoose  and  ducked  her  own  head.  No  one  spoke,  but 
they  all  knew  that  the  picture  would  look  like  nothing  in 
the  world  so  much  as  a  heap  of  old  clothes.  Civilization 
had  not  freed  the  squaw  from  native  guile  and  wariness. 

At  a  rather  late  dinner  that  night  in  their  brightly- 


A  Bird  of  Passage  191 

lighted  and  comfortably  fashionable  hotel,  they  sat  talking 
over  the  events  of  the  day  with  some  Montreal  people  who 
happened  to  be  stopping  at  the  same  place.  Olga  had  been 
surprised  into  expressing  her  thoughts  a  trifle  intensely. 
"I  am  so  sorry  for  them,'*  she  had  said,  speaking  of  the 
Indians.  "I  should  think  they'd  feel  that  every  white  man 
is  their  enemy  more  than  ever.  I  should  be  very  bitter  if 
I  were  an  Indian."  The  rest  smiled  at  the  picture.  "No, 
seriously,  I  would,"  she  repeated,  quick  to  catch  the  smile 
and  looking  to  Victor,  as  had  become  her  habit,  to  learn 
whether  or  not  she  had  made  some  queer  little  mistake 
in  idiom. 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Renfrew,"  said  Caruthers,  the  man  from 
Montreal,  "may  I  contradict  you,  but  you'd  not  have  the 
least  suspicion  of  a  bitter  thought  toward  the  white  man 
if  you  were  an  Indian.  You  might  mourn  the  lost  and 
passing  glories  of  your  race,  it  is  true,  but  you  wouldn't 
be  bitter.  Why,  if  you  but  knew  it,  the  white  man  is 
spending  his  money  to  help  the  Indian  fight  his  greatest 
enemies,  for  instance,  consumption.  He  sends  the  young 
braves  away  from  the  reservation,  gives  them  an  education 
and  work  to  do  in  the  world,  then  he  helps  stamp  out  the 
disease  which  has  attacked  so  many  of  the  Indians  left 
on  the  reservation." 

"Ah,  that's  just  what  I  contend!"  said  Olga  triumph- 
antly. "It  isn't  natural,  and  therefore  not  healthy,  for 
the  Indians  to  be  kept  on  their  reservations." 

"But  what  else  can  they  do  ?  Thej^'re  more  like  children 
than  anything  else  in  the  world.  When  they  were  left 
alone  they  were  always  fighting  with  the  whites,  and  drink- 
ing too  much  fire-water — though,  perhaps,  I  should  say 


192  A  Bird  of  Passage 

it  the  other  way  'round.  Both  the  United  States  and 
Canada  have  seen  the  wisdom  of  giving  the  Indians  reser- 
vations to  live  on.  It's  the  best  way,  my  dear  young  lady ; 
it's  the  only  way." 

Olga  caught  her  breath  and  was  about  to  speak,  when 
she  decided  that  perhaps  it  was  unbecoming  for  a  young 
woman  to  express  views  so  directly  in  opposition  to  the 
words  of  this  older  man.  She  was  silent,  vaguely  de- 
pressed and  rebellious. 

They  said  good-by  to  Alix  and  Alfred  at  Vancouver, 
turning  their  steps  toward  home.  It  had  been  a  delight- 
ful trip,  but  for  Olga  all  of  its  events  moved  before  the 
baclcground  of  that  one  day's  glimpse  of  the  Indians' 
life  and  the  illusion  she  had  lost.  Would  she  sometime 
come  to  believe  definitely  that  freedom  was  a  matter  of 
the  spirit?  Yet  what  would  one  say  for  the  influence  of 
environment?  Surely  these  were  questions  not  lightly  to 
be  answered. 


CHAPTER  XII 


After  their  return  home,  Olga  and  Victor  took  up  the 
old  life  with  increasing  pleasure.  "They  wouldn't  know 
me  back  in  Vienna,"  she  wrote  jubilantly  to  Alix,  for  the 
time  being  at  Bombay.  "You  can't  guess  how  it  helped  to 
have  you  and  *Uncle  Alfred'  (isn't  it  funny  to  be  calling 
him  that)  come  to  visit  us.  Everyone  feels  now  that  we 
have  family  connections  as  we  should."  Olga  was  think- 
ing and  speaking,  as  always,  with  her  characteristic  eager 
frankness.  At  any  rate,  the  next  year  sped  by  on  glamor- 
ous, golden  wings  of  joy.  There  were  social  engagements 
of  every  sort,  and  the  gradual  establishment  of  a  circle  of 
very  good  friends  with  whom  they  rode  and  danced,  dined 
and  otherwise  enjoyed  themselves.  Nor  should  the  value 
of  social  acquaintance  be  discounted,  for  it  was  due  to 
friendships  thus  formed  that  Victor  was  beginning  to  be 
mentioned  as  a  possible  candidate  for  the  provincial  par- 
liament of  Quebec,  a  first  step  towards  something  higher. 

The  summer  of  1914  grew  on  toward  August  without 
particular  event.  On  the  afternoon  of  the  fourth,  Olga, 
Genevieve  Rankin,  and  Lady  Cornelia  Pendleton  were  hav- 
ing tea  on  the  veranda  of  a  country  club  outside  town, 
expecting  their  husbands  to  join  them  later  and  drive  on 
for  dinner  at  a  favorite  inn  along  the  lake  shore.  Olga 
was  feeling  more  than  usually  gay,  and  had  been  regaling 

X93 


194  A  Bird  of  Passage 

the  other  two  with  a  narrative  out  of  her  past  life,  her 
first  meeting  with  Victor  on  the  imperial  train,  and  the 
whole  romantic  story  of  their  elopement.  Cornelia  Pen- 
dleton had  been  in  London  for  the  King's  funeral,  and  was 
enthusiastically  joining  in  Olga's  reminiscenses. 

"Well,  just  what  are  you,  Olga?"  asked  Genevieve 
Rankin,  curiously. 

"I  suppose  one  would  call  me  Austrian,"  Olga  answered ; 
**but  myself,  I  think  I  am  a  citizen  of  the  worid !  I  look 
everywhere  for  freedom,  and  I  do  not  find  it." 

**You've  as  much  freedom  as  any  woman  has  a  right  to 
expect,"  asserted  Cornelia.  "What  would  you  do  if  you 
were  married  to  my  Joel  ?  For  the  past  fifteen  years  now 
he's  known  absolutely  where  I'll  be  from  one  day's  end  to 
the  next.  But  for  some  reason  or  other  neither  of  us 
seems  to  mind  such  a  prosaic  existence, — we're  properly 
insular,  I  guess."  Cornelia  was  fullj'  ten  years  older  than 
Olga,  with  a  great  store  of  inherent  and  acquired  wisdom. 
Lord  Joel  was  a  jealously  loving  husband  who  lav- 
ished everything  in  the  world  on  his  wife  in  exchange  for 
the  consciousness  of  possessing  her;  and  they  made  a 
striking  and  typically  English  pair,  Cornelia  with 
an  elfin  hint  of  Ireland  in  her  gray  eyes  and  dark  chest- 
nut hair  and  Joel  with  a  trace  of  sturdy  Welsh  ancestry 
in  his  big  frame.  He  appeared  now  as  they  talked,  bring- 
ing Victor  and  rotund,  jovial  Harry  Rankin  with  him. 
But  the  three  men  seemed  a  trifle  more  preoccupied  than 
usual,  and  Joel  flourished  a  newspaper  to  emphasize  his 
words.  The  women  looked  up  expectantly  as  they  ap- 
proached. 


A  Bird  of  Passage  195 

"Well?"  asked  Genevieve,  presently.  Each  of  the  men 
seemed  to  wait  for  the  other  to  speak. 

"Haven't  you  heard  the  news  ?"  inquired  Harry  Rankin. 
"What  in  Heaven's  name  do  you  women  do,  anyway?" 

"We've  been  playing  bridge  with  a  dummy  hand,  and 
minding  our  own  business,"  smiled  Cornelia.  **What's  the 
matter,  what  do  you  want  us  to  do?" 

**You'll  have  plenty  to  do,  I*m  thinking,  my  dear,"  ob- 
served Joel,  idly  following  Victor  with  his  eyes  as  the 
latter  crossed  the  veranda  to  Olga.  "We've  declared  a 
state  of  war  between  Britain  and  Germany,  that's  all,  and 
British  troops  are  being  mobilized  for  service  in  Belgium, 
and  France  has  gone  in  against  Germany." 

"Oh,  Joel !"  cried  Cornelia,  sitting  up  in  her  chair.  She 
remembered  that  her  husband  had  a  commission  in  a 
famous  regiment  "at  home." 

"Yes,"  he  said,  in  reply  to  her  unspoken  question.  "I'm 
sailing  within  the  week." 

An  ominous  and  chilling  silence  fell  upon  the  little 
group,  so  like  other  happy  little  groups  the  nation  over. 
It  could  not  be  possible  that  the  old,  carefree  life  was  to 
be  interrupted.  None  of  them  had  ever  known  war,  save 
Joel  and  Harry,  who  had  gone  down  into  the  Transvaal 
for  a  few  horrible  months,  but  each  sensed  that  in  some 
way  this  war  would  be  more  dreadful  in  proportion  as  it 
would  shatter  all  the  carefully  nurtured  ideals  of  civiliza- 
tion.   At  last  Harry  made  a  move  to  go. 

"Come  on,  everybody !  Don't  let's  let  all  this  good  sun- 
shine go  to  waste !  We're  off  for  Reynaldo's  and  chicken 
and  frog  legs!     It  may  be  a  long  time  before  we  all  do 


196  A  Bird  of  Passage 

this  again,  and  we'd  better  take  advantage  of  the  chance 
to  play." 

"Yes,  let's  get  along  and  forget  to-morrow,"  said  Joel. 
Come  on,  everybody!"  But  it  was  just  a  bit  pathetic 
to  see  Cornelia  clinging  to  his  arm  during  the  evening, 
while  the  frigid  Genevieve  was  even  surprised  into  showinpj 
more  affectionate  interest  in  her  spouse  than  she  had  in 
days  before. 

"The  poor  archduke,"  said  Olga,  during  dinner.  "To 
think  that  it  was  his  murder  that  brought  all  this  tumbling 
about  our  ears.  Do  you  remember  what  we  were  saying 
about  him  only  this  afternoon,  Cornelia?  How  handsome 
he  was  at  King  Edward's  funeral,  and  how  everyone  was 
looking  to  him  as  a  coming  monarch  of  power.?" 

"And  now  Austria  is  our  enemy,"  murmured  Harry 
Rankin,  wondering  as  he  spoke  why  Olga  Renfrew  paled 
suddenly  and  looked  at  him  so  intently. 


So  the  war  came  to  Canada,  bringing  new  organization, 
new  activity,  new  interests,  big  demands  and  a  noble  re- 
sponse. Then  followed  the  casualty  lists  and  pathos  of 
mourning  dress  worn  with  the  dignity  of  royal  robes ;  when 
one  spoke  guardedly,  loathe  to  turn  the  barbed  shafts  of 
remembrance  in  fresh  wounds.  Within  the  first  two  years 
Cornelia  Pendleton  was  wearing  black  for  Joel,  killed  in 
the  Dardanelles  engagement,  and  the  Rankins  were  both 
in  England,  where  Harry,  blinded  by  one  of  the  earliest 
German  gas  attacks,  was  learning  Braille  and  starting, 
with  Genevieve's  help,  a  hospital  for  soldiers  blinded  like 
himself.     With  all  these  changes  had  come  a  more  un- 


A  Bird  of  Passage  197 

lovely  thing,  though  it  developed  naturally  enough, — fear 
of  the  unknown  enemy.  At  home,  for  example,  a  little 
German  shoemaker,  apprenticed  in  the  old  country  as  a 
lad  of  seven  and  an  immigrant  to  Canada  more  than  fifty 
years  ago,  found  strange  people  with  hard,  unsympathetic 
eyes  visiting  his  shop  and  the  English  friends  of  many 
years'  standing  regarding  him  with  coolness.  An  Austrian 
baker  who  had  enjoyed  fashionable  custom  for  a  quarter- 
century  sat  idle  in  his  shop ;  there  was  no  more  "fashion- 
able custom,"  parties  were  out  of  vogue,  and  even  had 
this  not  been  true,  his  wares  would  have  been  unsaleable. 
Suspicion  was  like  some  gigantic,  threatening  phantom, 
darkening  lives  wherever  it  was  cast.  After  Neuve  Cha- 
pelle  and  the  sinking  of  the  Lusitania  in  1915  there  were 
more  distressing  instances.  A  maid,  whose  grandmother, 
dead  ten  years  past,  had  been  a  German,  was  a  trusted 
servant  of  a  prominent  family,  but  unable  to  endure  the 
covert  thrusts  of  other  servants  in  the  household,  suicided 
one  day  from  the  high  bridge  and  crashed  down  in 
a  bleeding  mass  on  the  bridle  path  below.  Truly 
in  those  days  hysteria  and  patriotism  went  hand  in  hand. 

in 

Olga  Renfrew,  some  time  the  Baroness  von  Krantz  of 
Vienna,  viewed  the  war  with  mingled  emotions.  She  had 
no  sympathy  for  Germany,  since  some  latent  sense  told 
her  that  the  Kaiser's  country  had  made  a  cat's-paw  of 
poor  Austria;  yet  neither  had  she  much  pity  for  cold, 
selfish  Austria,  and  her  tenderest  regard  was  for  Russia, 
struggling  up  out  of  darkness  and  chaos,  only  to  be 
pushed  back  by  the  ruthless  hand  of  Mars.       Recalling 


198  A  Bird  of  Passage 

her  childhood  experience  and  her  unintentional  part  in 
sending  an  innocent  man  to  prison,  she  felt  a  vague  sense 
of  personal  indebtedness  toward  Russia,  and  was  definitely 
comforted  to  realize  that  she  would  have  the  opportunity, 
however  indirect,  to  be  of  service  through  helping  Canada, 
which  had,  with  the  other  Allies,  become  Russia's  cham- 
pion. Olga  wondered  whether  Feodor  was  dead  or  alive, 
in  or  out  of  prison ;  and  how  much  Aunt  Soscha  was  suf- 
fering. 

Victor's  mind  was  also  full  of  unrest  and  keen  shame 
because  medical  examinations  had  found  him  unfit  for 
active  service :  a  weak  heart,  they  said,  and  farsightedness 
which  would  result  in  definite  and  dangerous  eyestrain. 

"It  can't  be  true,"  he  said  to  the  doctor  who  made  the 
first  examination.  "Man  alive,  do  you  realize  that  I've 
never  had  a  day's  illness  in  my  life  ?  How  could  that  have 
happened  with  a  weak  heart  ?  And  my  eyes !  How  could 
I  have  traveled  through  the  forests  as  I  have,  living  the 
life  of  a  frontiersman  so  much  of  the  time,  and  do  my 
work  at  all  with  weak  eyes?  There  isn't  any  reason  why 
I  shouldn't  go,  a  great,  strapping  fellow  like  myself !  It's 
a  disgrace  to  fail  Canada  at  a  time  like  this." 

But  the  wise  physician,  accustomed  through  days  of 
such  examinations  to  finding  these  manly  fellows  doomed 
to  disappointment,  waited  until  Victor  had  finished  his 
outburst.  Every  day  there  was  someone  like  this  pleading 
to  go;  every  day  there  were  others,  too,  the  cringing, 
fearsome  ones,  seeking  for  a  loop-hole  of  escape. 

**Steady  on,  old  fellow,"  said  Doctor  Brent,  soothingly. 
"Stop  and  think  a  minute  about  the  very  things  you've 
said.     Did  you  ever  realize  that  perhaps  you  have  what 


A  Bird  of  Passage  199 

they  call  *athlete's  heart'?  Y'know  you  can't  run  your 
batteries  forever  without  expecting  the  plates  to  wear. 
Of  course  you  didn't  think  you  had  anything  the  matter 
with  you.  Under  ordinary  conditions  you'd  be  good  for 
twenty  years  more  without  a  sign  of  a  break.  But  now 
it's  different,  and  these  aren't  going  to  be  ordinary  con- 
ditions. What  good  would  your  heart  be  in  a  charge  out 
of  the  trenches  if  it  buckled  on  you  some  nip-ht?  What 
good  would  your  eyes  be  if  they  began  to  play  tricks  on 
you  and  you  mistook  the  color  of  a  uniform  early  some 
morning  when  the  smoke  and  the  dim  light  combined  to 
help  the  enemy.''  My  God,  man,  you've  got  to  think  of 
England  in  this ! 

"Maybe  the  time'll  come.  Heaven  forbid,  when  we'll  have 
to  take  you  fellows, — but  not  yet.  Don't  be  foolish  and 
do  a  younger  chap  out  of  his  place  in  the  ranks.  It's 
hard  lines,  but  it's  your  bit  and  you've  got  to  help  here 
at  home.     We  need  wise  heads  here,  too,  you  know." 

Victor  had  gone  away,  unconvinced  and  dissatisfied,  to 
make  the  rounds  of  the  doctors'  offices  in  the  hope  of 
finding  one  man  who  would  say  he  was  fit  to  go.  But  the 
universal  answer  sent  Victor  stumbling  out  at  last  into 
the  streets  one  night  to  walk  and  walk  until  midnight 
under  the  cloud-filled  sky  where  fitful  winds  crowded  mists 
across  the  face  of  the  moon  as  these  drifting  thoughts 
darkened  his  mind.  He  had  come  home  to  Olga  with  a 
wearied  body  and  a  saddened  soul,  home  to  the  woman 
waiting  to  comfort  him  and  before  whom  he  was  not 
ashamed,  in  the  black  hours  before  morning,  to  lie  and 
sob  out  his  heart  without  restraint.  This  unexpected 
revelation  had  touched  Olga  deeply  and  filled  her  heart 


200  A  Bird  of  Passage 

with  new  love  for  the  brave  soul  of  this  man  she  had 
married.  She  said  little,  since  there  was  little  that  might 
honestly  be  said ;  but  from  that  night  a  new  and  beautiful 
understanding  grew  between  them  that  even  death  itself 
could  not  destroy. 

*'There  will  be  something,  my  lover,"  she  had  said, 
**some  way  in  which  you,  and  only  you,  can  help.  And 
you  must  never  say  again  that  you  are  worthless  to  your 
country.  It  is  you  who  have  had  to  fight  the  first  battle, 
against  an  enemy  with  whom  you  couldn't  grapple  in  the 
flesh.  You  mustn't  give  up  now.  Think  how  the  boche 
would  be  glad  to  know  if  even  in  these  early  days  of  the 
war  there  were  many  hke  you  who  had  lost  heart!  And 
they  would  know  it,  too,  mon  hrav.  They  would  be  quick 
to  see  it  reflected  in  the  men  who  fight  in  the  first  lines." 

Even  when  Victor  accused  her  of  saying  these  things 
because  she  was  glad  he  could  not  go,  she  took  the  bitter 
words  in  silence  and  only  smoothed  his  hair  and  kissed  his 
forehead  gently. 

*'0f  course  I  am  glad  to  have  you  stay  with  me,"  she 
answered.  "I  shan't  lie  to  you.  But  thou  knowest," 
lapsing  into  rapid  voluble  French,  "that,  I,  too,  have  pride 
which  is  greater  than  desire.  And  I  have  those  things  for 
which  I  shall  always  be  grateful  to  Canada  beyond  words. 
Do  you  think  then,  remembering  this,  that  I  would  keep 
you  here  against  your  wish?  Ah,  no !  That  thou  knowest 
as  well  as  I."  And  presently  he  was  contrite,  rebuking 
himself  for  this,  too,  which  had  been  cruel  and  unthink- 
ing. 

When  he  would  at  last  admit  that  it  was  futile  for  him 
to  attempt  going  into  service,  he  sought  other  ways  of 


A  Bird  of  Passage  201 

usefulness.  Everyone  knew  that  he  had  been  found  physic- 
ally unfit  for  military  dut^^,  and  because  there  was  no 
doubting  his  valiant  spirit,  chances  were  given  him  else- 
where. Particularly  his  knowledge  of  business  psychology 
and  his  winning  personality  made  him  a  big  factor  in  the 
management  of  loan  campaigns  occurring  from  time  to 
time.  Men  going  to  war  had  reduced  the  forces  in  his 
factories  and  mills,  but  with  what  help  he  had  the  business 
of  producing  paper  went  on  as  steadily  as  possible.  There 
were  more  demands  than  ever  for  paper-stock, — govern- 
ment demands  which  must  be  met;  paper  upon  which  to 
print  the  thousands  and  thousands  of  patriotic  posters  to 
stir  the  people  in  the  loan  campaigns,  paper  for  other 
government  leaflets,  paper  for  the  posters  of  other  socie- 
ties, paper  that  was  wanted  in  the  United  States.  It 
would  be  a  government  service  if  the  pulp  mills  could  be 
kept  running.  But  amid  all  this,  Victor  found  that  he 
was  suddenly  making  more  money  than  he  had' ever  done 
before  in  his  life,  a  discovery  which  chagrined  him  deeply 
and  made  him  frantically  double  his  subscriptions  to 
patriotic  funds  of  one  sort  and  another.  The  iron  twisted 
in  his  soul  as  he  was  obliged  to  stay  at  home,  unfit  to  give 
his  fighting  man-power  to  Canada,  and  forced  instead  to 
watch  his  bank  balances  increasing  in  proportion,  it 
seemed,  to  the  generosity  with  which  he  gave.  Truly  they 
were  strange  days  of  conflict  in  his  heart. 

Since  Olga  was  known  to  be  Austrian,  she  was  not 
warmly  welcomed  by  any  of  the  war-work  societies.  This 
perfectly  natural  desire  for  precaution  had  made  it  awk- 
ward for  her  services  to  be  accepted  in  any  very  important 
activity.    She  would  have  had  no  time,  under  any  circum- 


202  A  Bird  of  Passage 

stances,  with  the  care  of  baby  Stan,  for  St.  John's  Am- 
bulance Brigade  or  the  Voluntary  Aid  Detachment  which 
were  primarily  for  younger  girls,  and  for  the  same  reason, 
she  could  not  have  gone  into  nursing.  The  Red  Cross 
permitted  her  to  work  a  day  or  two  each  week,  but  there 
were  frequent  and  unpleasant  experiences  when  some 
overly-suspicious  soul  objected  to  her  presence  in  the 
workroom  or  canteen.  So  she  was  obliged  to  remain  away 
from  the  busy  centers  of  patriotic  endeavor  much  of  the 
time  and  content  herself  with  knitting  at  home  and  com- 
plying willingly  with  whatever  requests  were  made  of  her. 
Privately  she  suspected  that  some  of  the  societies  were 
repeatedly  calling  upon  her  for  contributions  simply  be- 
cause they  knew  that  if  she  refused  it  would  be  an  easy 
matter  to  say  enough  to  bring  her  under  direct  suspicion 
at  Dominion  secret  service  headquarters,  a  contretemps 
she  was  naturally  eager  to  avoid.  In  consequence,  how- 
ever, it  was  very  hard  to  stay  at  home  many  days  and 
be  made  to  feel  that  she  had  no  part  in  helping  Canada 
win  the  war.  Often  she  thought  rebelliously  that  Fate 
had  once  more  imprisoned  her  as  surely  as  Soscha  had  kept 
her  in  the  convent.  But  she  had  Victor,  who  trusted  her 
absolutely,  and  baby  Stan,  growing  to  be  a  sweet  young- 
ster who  looked  strangely  out  of  his  element  among  the 
soldier  toys  Victor  bought  for  him.  Curiously  the  sight  of 
toy  cannon,  tin  soldiers,  or  a  gray  torpedo  boat  mar- 
velously  equipped  to  launch  tiny  projectiles  brought  some 
comfort  to  the  man  who  could  not  get  into  the  fighting 
where  these  things  in  life-size  and  form  were  grimly  real, 
and  matters  of  every-day  association.  At  four  and  a  half 
years,    young   Stan    was   being   taught    the   manual   of 


A  Bird  of  Passage  203 

arms  by  his  father,  who  drilled  with  others  of  the  "stay- 
at-homes"  in  St.  Andrew's  Rifles  three  nights  a  week; 
and  there  was  no  outfit  in  the  child's  wardrobe  which  gave 
Victor  such  a  thrill  of  delight  as  a  diminutive  Boy 
Scout  uniform  with  its  tiny  short  khaki  trousers  and  the 
woolen  socks  that  came  just  below  the  baby's  plump  knees. 

IV 

With  feeling  running  high  about  this  time,  when  it  was 
not  safe  for  an  able-bodied  man  to  walk  the  streets  unless 
his  coat  lapel  bore  some  distinguishing  button  or  pin  to 
indicate  his  war  interests  and  prove  him  not  to  be  a 
slacker,  a  certain  Eric  Holt  began  to  factor  in  Olga's 
life.  Holt  had  lived  in  Brockton  for  many  years,  it  seemed, 
and  knew  only  the  nicest  people,  by  whom  he  was  accepted 
on  many  counts.  A  clever  conversationalist,  skilful  ap- 
parently in  any  game  and  always  obligingly  ready  to  fill 
out  a  foursome  of  golf  or  a  table  of  bridge,  he  had  been 
quite  as  popular  with  the  men  as  with  the  women.  Close 
to  a  dangerously  and  attractively  indefinite  middle  age 
which  lent  him  a  valuable  dignity,  he  was  fairly  tall  and 
dark,  with  fine  features  just  a  trifle  too  small  for  a  man ; 
nevertheless,  he  was  handsome  and  possessed  of  impeccable 
manners.  His  bachelor  apartments  on  Sherbrooke  Street 
were  in  their  appointments  quite  out  of  proportion  to  the 
position  he  occupied  as  department  head  of  a  com- 
pany dealing  in  coal,  ice,  wood,  and  buUder's  supplies 
of  every  sort,  but  popular  fancy  explained  away  this 
discrepancy  with  a  pretty  little  story  that  he  was  possibly 
a  beloved  younger  son  who  had  escaped  the  traditional 
pursuits  of  the  army  or  the  clergy  and  had  gone  into 


204  A  Bird  of  Passage 

trade,  and  though  his  family  disapproved  of  his  choice, 
had  thoughtfully  provided  him  with  an  independent  in- 
come. All  of  which,  having  reached  Holt's  ears  through 
the  customary  channels  of  gossip,  suited  him  to  perfection. 

Acquaintance  between  him  and  the  Renf rews  dated  from 
the  time  of  Victor's  return  to  Canada  with  his  bride,  but 
it  remained  little  else  than  a  casual  thing  of  social  meet- 
ings at  teas  and  dinners  until  the  exigencies  and  grim 
humors  of  war  created  a  different  situation.  Then  Eric 
quietly  but  insistently  repeated  the  fact,  substantiated  by 
medical  statements,  that  he  was  over-age  and  unfit  for 
active  service.  He  appeared  to  be  keenly  disappointed, 
and  consequently  diverted  his  patriotic  efforts  into  other 
branches,  helping  in  the  Red  Cross  and  fund  campaigns 
much  as  Victor  and  others  were  doing.  He  became  so 
active  in  the  Canadian  Red  Cross  eventually  that  he  volun- 
teered to  pay  his  own  expenses  on  field  trips  to  the  vari- 
ous provinces  in  the  interests  of  the  work.  Before  the 
war  he  constantly  left  the  city  on  business  trips,  and  he 
seemed  now  to  enjoy  the  opportunity  given  by  these  er- 
rands of  service  to  get  away  for  brief  excursions.  Thus 
it  was  that  he  came  to  call  occasionally  at  68  St.  James 
Street,  first  for  special  committee  meetings,  then  for  tea, 
and  finally  on  purpose  to  talk  with  Mrs.  Renfrew;  for 
he  had  arrived  at  the  psychological  moment  when  the 
strain  of  the  times  was  beginning  to  wear  down  Olga's 
reserve  force. 

One  chilly  January  afternoon  Olga  and  Eric  Holt  were 
having  tea  alone  together  whilst  the  fine,  powdery  snow 
swirled  in  the  gale  outside  and  hurled  itself  imavaihngly 
against  the  windows,  through  which  the  cheerful  glow  of 


A  Bird  of  Passage  205 

the  grate  fire  and  shaded  lamps  gleamed  cozily.  It  had 
become  an  understood  thing  now  for  him  to  stop  for  tea 
at  least  once  a  week,  beside  other  engagements  he  might 
have  at  the  house  with  Victor.  To-day,  as  usual,  they 
had  discussed  the  latest  war  news,  which  was  scant,  how- 
ever, because  continued  cold  weather  had  stopped  fighting 
on  the  western  front.  Holt  was  always  eager  to  talk  with 
Olga  about  the  war  and  seemed  quite  oblivious  to  the  fact 
that  she  had  so  much  leisure  in  such  busy  times.  While 
they  were  sitting  before  the  fire,  a  maid  appeared  to  sum- 
mon Olga  to  the  telephone  which  had  rung  in  the  room 
beyond.  When  she  had  gone  to  answer.  Holt  sat  rigidly 
still,  listening  to  her  replies  and  from  them  inferring  cor- 
rectly that  some  war  work  society  member  was  calhng  to 
ask  for  a  contribution.  A  piano,  it  seemed  to  be,  and 
Holt  smiled  guardedly  to  himself  as  he  heard  Olga  promise 
to  have  one  at  the  appointed  place;  but  his  face  was  an 
emotionless  mask  when  she  returned. 

She  seemed  to  feel  some  sort  of  explanation  necessary, 
and  though  she  looked  away  from  him  out  at  the  drifting 
snow,  said  in  a  dull,  hfeless  tone,  "Someone  from  the 
Secours  National,  that  was.  They're  having  a  sock  fund 
bridge  next  week  with  a  little  orchestra  of  returned  con- 
valescent soldiers  to  play  for  them  at  tea-time.  There 
wasn't  a  good  piano  in  the  building  they've  chosen,  and 
they  want  me  to  get  one  for  them." 

"Interesting,  indeed,"  he  observed  smoothly.  "The 
Secours  National  is  doing  a  big  work  in  this  city  where 
many  great  and  good  things  are  being  accomplished.  It 
must  be  a  pleasure  to  work  with  them."  He  waited  for 
her  to  speak,  watching  her  closely  and  meeting  her  quick 


206  A  Bird  of  Passage 

side-glance  with  a  naive  widening  of  his  dark-gray  eyes 
that  a  moment  before  had  been  narrowed  and  keen  like  an 
alert  animal's. 

Turning  nervously  toward  him  now,  she  answered  bit- 
terly, "Why  is  there  need  of  any  pretence  between  us? 
Surely  you  know  as  well  as  a  thousand  others  that  I  don't 
really  work  with  the  Secours  National,  nor  any  other  war 
organization.  I'll  not  even  be  welcome  at  this  bridge 
party.  It  wasn't  a  committee  chairman  who  called  me 
then,  just  some  obscure  nobody, — because  the  chairman 
doesn't  need  to  waste  her  time  calling  me.  She  knows 
they'll  get  what  they  want  without  any  trouble."  Olga 
turned  away  again,  her  mouth  twisted  in  an  agony  of 
repression. 

"Come,  come,  Mrs.  Renfrew,"  Holt  murmured.  "You're 
not  yourself  to-day.  This  gloomy  weather  has  oppressed 
you.  I'm  sure  I  can't  think  why  you  shouldn't  work  with 
the  women,  though  to  be  honest  with  you,  I  have  heard 
that  you  are  of  Austrian  parentage."  He  finished  the 
sentence  with  an  exquisitely  deferential  rising  inflection. 

She  stared  at  him  in  fascination.  "It  is  a  strange  posi- 
tion that  I  occupy.  The  greatest  love  and  happiness  of 
my  life  has  come  to  me  here  in  Canada,  but  Canada,  not 
knowing  that,  doesn't  want  me.  I  shouldn't  speak  so,  but 
sometimes  it  overpowers  me  to  think  how  virtually  I  an 
a  prisoner." 

"Oh,  no !  Hardly  that !  I'm  afraid  it's  your  imagina- 
tion. In  these  days,  you  know,  the  people  are  all  like 
children,  frightened  at  shadows." 

"You'd  best  be  careful,"  warned  Olga,  in  a  £ash  of 
spirit  mingled  with  irony.     "They'll  be  taking  you  for  a 


A  Bird  of  Passage  207 

spy  next,  on  the  strength  of  that  remark."  Holt  laughed 
indulgently,  as  one  does  at  the  fancies  of  a  child. 

"Little  fear  of  that,'*  he  boasted  softly. 

"But  you  come  here  to  see  me,"  persisted  Olga.  "That 
isn't  safe,  either.  Who  knows  what  fearful  plot  they  may 
think  we  are  planning.''"  Holt  rose  from  his  chair  and 
walked  over  to  the  covered  bench  where  she  was  sitting. 
Standing  beside  her,  he  put  a  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"Pull  yourself  together,  little  girl,"  he  said  gently. 
*'We  can't  have  any  of  this.  You're  brooding  over  the 
thing  too  much.  Don't  let  them  get  the  best  of  you! 
That  would  be  the  surest  confession  of  guilt.  As  they 
say  in  the  States,  'Keep  a  stiff  upper  lip.'  " 

Olga  looked  up  at  him  gratefully.  "You  can't  know 
what  a  blessing  you  and  your  visits  are !" 

"Poor  little  lady,"  breathed  Holt,  sympathetically. 
"All  this  seems  an  injustice,  a  cruelty." 

Holt  stood  a  moment  before  the  fire,  looking  down  at 
the  bright  flames,  his  hands  behind  his  back.  "Well,  I'll 
tell  you  something  new  and  interesting,  to  change  the  sub- 
ject," he  announced  cheerily,  at  last.  "I'm  going  to  run 
down  to  Halifax  within  a  week,  and  rush  along  some  ship- 
ments of  coal  I'm  getting  through  for  the  Cliffden  muni- 
tions factory.  I  take  genuine  pride  in  knowing  I'U  be 
able  to  get  fuel  to  them  when  all  the  other  companies 
are  unable  to  obtain  any.  Shipping  is  a  bit  congested, 
but  aside  from  that,  I've  not  had  the  slightest  difficulty 
getting  coal." 

"That's  splendid,"  agreed  Olga,  smiling  at  him.  *'A 
day  like  this  makes  one  realize  that  even  a  prosaic  thing 
like  buying  coal  is  a  patriotic  service,  n'est-ce  pas?    But 


208  A  Bird  of  Passage 

speaking  of  coal  and  munitions,  reminds  me  of  something  I 
heard  at  dinner  one  evening  last  week. 

"We  were  at  Mordyke*s  and  I  happened  to  be  sitting 
between  Mr.  Houghton,  who's  an  insurance  man,  isn't  he, 
and  Mr.  Jenks." 

"  Jenks  of  the  Cliff  den  Company .'"'  asked  Holt,  sharply. 

"Yes,"  replied  Olga.  "Someone  had  mentioned  the  con- 
tinued output  of  big  guns  in  Germany,  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  nickel  steel  is  necessary.  We'd  been  talking  about 
the  Somme  drive,  I  guess.  And  suddenly  Mr.  Jenks  said 
quietly,  'And  you'll  remember  that  Canada  controls  the 
nickel  market.' 

"It  was  the  most  curious  thing  to  see  how  all  the  people 
who'd  overheard  him  stopped  talking  to  listen.  His  tone 
was  so  ominious,  as  though  he  knew  a  great  deal  that  he 
might  tell. 

"Finally  Mr.  Houghton  said,  'What  d'you  mean?  Is 
there  a  leak  somewhere  ?'  That  was  what  everyone  wanted 
to  ask.  Mr.  Jenks  looked  at  him  peculiarly,  and  then 
glanced  quickly  up  and  down  the  table. 

"It  was  a  fairly  small  party  with  everyone  there  as 
trustworthy  as  yourself,  so  presently  he  said,  'Don't  be 
surprised  at  anything  these  days,  Houghton.  If  there's 
a  leak,  it's  soon  going  to  be  plugged  up.'  Mr.  Jenks 
picked  up  his  wine  glass  and  took  a  long,  deliberate  sip, 
as  though  to  indicate  that  the  subject  had  been  dropped. 
In  a  moment  everyone  turned  back  to  resume  interrupted 
conversations  and  nothing  more  was  said.  It  was  very 
strange,  though,  and  terribly  mysterious.  It  left  me  with 
a  cold  chill,  really,  and  I  nearly  died  having  to  talk  to 
Mr.  Jenks  for  the  rest  of  the  dinner." 

Holt  had  remained  standing  with  his  face  to  the  fire, 


A  Bird  of  Passage  209 

and  not  by  the  twitching  of  a  nerve  did  he  move.  "So 
they're  going  to  plug  up  the  leak  soon,"  he  asked  quietly, 
as  though  he  expected  no  answer. 

"Yes,"  laughed  Olga,  "soon.  And  I  wanted  to  ask 
why  they  say  *plug  up  a  leak'  when  they  talk  about  nickel 
and  guns  and  steel,  and  mean  catching  a  spy?  It's  such 
a  queer  language,  isn't  it?" 

"Hm,  yes,  isn't  it?"  answered  Holt  abstractedly,  ab- 
sorbed in  his  contemplation  of  the  fire.  "Queer  language !" 
A  faint  tinkle  in  the  distance  made  him  turn  toward  the 
room  again,  and  he  smiled  in  comradely  fashion  at  Olga 
as  the  maid  came  in  with  the  tea  tray.  "This  is  pleasant," 
he  observed,  without  admitting  how  pleasant  it  was  to 
forget  munitions  and  steel  and  coal,  though  the  back  of 
his  mind  was  busy  with  little  plans  and  his  eyes  were 
curiously  agleam.  Kwang  Shu  sat  watching  until  his 
scrutiny  began  to  get  on  Holt's  nerves;  he  could  cope 
with  human  cleverness  but  not  with  this  quiet  little  animal 
who  seemed  to  have  the  wisdom  of  the  ages  back  of  his 
brown  eyes.  Like  a  grave  Celestial  he  sat  in  front 
of  Holt,  looking  so  steadily  at  him  that  Olga  noticed  it 
at  length. 

"Kwang,"  she  said  gently,  "you're  not  being  polite. 
Come  here  to  me.  You  mustn't  sit  and  look  at  Mr.  Holt 
like  that, — isn't  he  queer?"  she  asked  Eric.  "I  never  saw 
him  behave  so  before.  But  he's  studying  you ;  he  thinks 
you're  a  wonderful  man." 

However,  this  subtle  flattery  was  not  so  comforting  to 
Holt  as  was  the  withdrawal  of  Kwang  from  in  front  of 
him,    "Little  Chinese  devil,"  he  said,  under  his  breath. 


CHAPTER  Xni 


Late  that  night  a  train  out  of  Brockton  north-bound 
for  the  Cobalt  country  bore  among  the  other  passengers  a 
stoop-shouldered  man  in  a  loose-fitting,  rumpled  overcoat, 
fur  cap,  and  a  pair  of  big,  fur  mittens,  with  his  trouser 
legs  tucked  carelessly  into  the  tops  of  clumsy  looking 
goloshes.  He  appeared  to  be  a  querulous  little  man  from 
the  farm  country,  bundled  in  untidy  clothes  and  peering 
out  on  the  world  from  behind  thick  glasses.  The  car  con- 
ductor seemed  to  know  him,  for  the  two  spoke  as  he 
climbed  aboard  the  train,  and  the  former  told  one  of  the 
brakemen  afterward  that  "old  Grandy's  aboard  this  trip." 
The  trainmen  were  all  familiar  with  his  garrulously  re- 
peated story  of  his  sagacity  as  a  cattle  buyer,  and  how 
he'd  "show  them  slickers  in  the  fJ-nited  States  that  they'd 
hav'ta  look  sharp  if  they  thought  they  were  going  to  beat 
an  old  feller  in  the  business."  Grandy,  he  had  said  was 
his  name, — Jasper  Grandy,  and  he  always  left  the  train 
at  Cobalt  where  those  who  cared  to  follow  him  might  have 
seen  him  get  into  a  rusty  old  model  of  a  Ford  and  rattle 
through  the  town  by  winding  ways  and  many  turnings  in 
a  general  westerly  direction. 

As  usual,  on  this  January  day,  he  went  on  his  way  in 

the  Ford,  bundled  on  the  driver's  seat  until  only  his  round 

glasses  like  windows  of  a  house  showed  that  there  was 

210 


A  Bird  of  Passage  211 

life  within  the  shapeless  mass  of  coats  and  mufflings. 
Through  the  town  he  went  toward  the  west,  but  when  the 
outskirts  were  reached  he  turned  his  machine  into  a  de- 
serted lane  bordered  by  thick  evergreens.  Under  the 
heavy,  snow-laden  branches  he  pushed  the  car,  having  first 
fastened  a  pair  of  snowshoes  on  his  feet.  Consequently 
there  remained  only  the  tracks  of  the  automobile's  smooth 
tires  and  these  blurry  snowshoe  prints.  With  an  approv- 
ing glance  at  the  gray  sky  where  a  few  white  flakes  were 
lazily  drifting  down,  Jasper  Grandy  retraced  his  steps 
toward  the  main  road,  being  careful  to  go  between  the 
automobile  tracks.  Fortune  favored  him  and  not  a  vehicle 
of  any  sort  went  past.  Back  in  the  beaten  thoroughfare, 
he  unlatched  the  snowshoes  and  making  sure  that  the  road 
was  clear,  walked  a  few  rods  toward  town  and  at  last 
thrust  the  shoes  deep  under  another  evergreen  close  be- 
side the  road  which  he  could  reach  without  making  tell- 
tale marks  in  the  snow.  Then  he  continued  walking  in 
the  same  direction.  Minutes  passed  and  at  last  a  car 
came  up  behind  him,  slowing  and  stopping  as  he  stepped 
dejectedly  aside  to  let  it  pass. 

"Hi,  stranger!  Want  a  lift.?"  called  the  driver,  a  red- 
faced  young  farmer,  bundled  in  furs.  "Kinda  cold  to  be 
hoofin'  it  'way  out  here.  Get  in  if  you  wanta."  Jasper 
Grandy's  piercing  eyes  behind  the  thick  glasses  gave  the 
other  a  queer,  uncanny  feeling  not  in  any  way  relieved  by 
the  acceptance  of  his  offer  to  ride. 

"Thank  you,"  Jasper  Grandy  had  said,  getting  into 
the  car. 

"Goin*  far,"  began  the  driver,  determined  to  dispel  the 
oppressive  fear. 


212  A  Bird  of  Passage 

"To  the  station,'*  said  Jasper  Grandy,  in  a  voice  the 
trainmen  would  not  have  known  for  its  quiet  even  tones. 
The  driver  gave  him  a  quick  glance.  He  knew  all  the 
houses  along  the  way,  and  knew  as  well  that  this  mysteri- 
ous person  belonged  in  none  of  them. 

"I'm  a  traveling  salesman,"  volunteered  Grandy,  in 
Eric  Holt's  voice.  "My  run  is  entirely  in  the  cities,  and 
whenever  I  can  I  get  out  into  the  country  to  walk.  This 
afternoon  the  bus  man  from  the  hotel  drove  me  out  and 
at  my  request  dropped  me  about  two  miles  beyond  here. 
I  meant  to  walk  clear  into  town,  but  it's  getting  dark 
sooner  than  I  expected.  I  shall  be  obliged  for  the  ride." 
Encouraged  at  this  explanation,  the  driver  was  about  to 
put  another  question  when  he  caught  the  stranger's  eyes 
full  upon  him  with  their  cold,  impersonal  stare  so  that  the 
words  stuck  in  his  throat  and  his  tongue  seemed  to  swell 
at  the  roots.  All  the  way  in  the  two  rode  in  silence,  and 
at  last  the  car  was  drawn  up  in  front  of  the  railroad 
station.  The  poor  farmer  lad  had  no  errand  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  station  at  all,  but  some  hypnotic  power  had 
taken  command  of  his  will  and  forced  him  to  go  on  in 
response  to  the  direction  of  the  stranger,  expressed  but 
once. 

*'By  the  great  horn  spoon,"  ejaculated  the  young 
farmer  when  he  was  safely  on  his  way  from  the  depot, 
"I'll  bet  I  had  the  devil  ridin'  with  me.  Them  eyes'd 
give  Sir  Douglas  Haig  the  nightmare."  The  farmer  had 
done  his  bit  in  France,  where  he  had  left  two  toes  of  his 
left  foot.  He  was  a  brave  fellow,  but  as  he  declared  later, 
*'I  was  plumb  scared  to  turn  my  back  on  him  and  drive 
away,  for  fear  he'd  pump  me  full  of  lead,  or  conjure  up 


A  Bird  of  Passage  213 

an  explosion  in  the  road,  or  somethin'.     Gosh,  it  was 
awful!    I'm  cured  o'pickin'  up  people  on  the  road." 

Meanwhile  Jasper  Grandy  had  walked  through  the  sta- 
tion and  out  of  a  side  door  to  the  street  whence  he  had 
started  in  his  little  Ford.  Across  the  way  a  sign  an- 
nounced a  branch  office  of  the  Kinsolving  Packing  Com- 
pany and  through  its  doorway  he  entered  a  big  room 
full  of  desks  and  typewriter  tables,  where  a  staff  of  five 
stenographers  and  bookkeepers  were  busy  at  work.  One 
of  the  former,  a  girl  in  the  late  twenties,  looked  up  as  he 
came  in.  "Mr.  Trent.'*"  he  inquired,  in  Jasper  Grandy*s 
own  querulous  manner. 

"Mr.  Trent,"  repeated  the  girl. 

"Yes,  yes,  that's  what  I  said,  young  lady,"  he  replied, 
impatiently.  "I  don't  want  to  be  kept  waitin',  either. 
When  you  tell  him  it's  Jasper  Grandy  from  Owen  Sound 
way,  he'll  let  me  in  in  a  hurry."  The  stenographer  went 
into  another  office,  returning  almost  directly  to  say  that 
Mr.  Trent  would  see  Mr.  Grandy.  "What  did  I  tell  yuh?" 
cackled  Jasper  in  high-pitched,  gleeful  notes  as  he  dis- 
appeared beyond  the  door  of  the  inner  office. 

When  the  door  was  closed  he  and  "Mr.  Trent"  looked 
at  each  other  intently.  "The  lone  pine  stands,'*  said 
Jasper  Grandy. 

"By  the  deep  waters,"  replied  Mr.  Trent. 

"Mighty  winds  blow,"  chanted  Jasper. 

"Still  the  lone  pine  stands,"  repeated  Mr.  Trent.  Si- 
lence again,  then  the  two  on  the  same  instant  said,  scarcely 
above  a  whisper,  "Krieg  ohne  Frieden!" 

Jasper  Grandy  sat  down  beside  Mr.  Trent's  desk.  "How 
many  cars  are  ready  to  send  out?" 


214  A  Bird  of  Passage 

"Ten,"  answered  Mr.  Trent.  "Mattes  were  shipped 
from  Sudbury  a  week  ago,  in  addition  to  these.  Fine 
stuff,  too,  with  a  high  percentage  of  nickel  in  the  ore  this 
time.  There  was  trouble  with  the  blast  furnaces  here,  or 
we'd  have  been  able  to  have  sent  another  lot  last  week. 
Had  to  say  that  the  cattle  weren't  ready  to  be  put  on 
the  cars.  But  it's  all  right,  the  mattes  are  all  placed  and 
the  cattle  on  board  by  now." 

"Well,  it's  not  all  right  with  us.  Have  the  secret 
service  been  watching  you.?" 

"Not  any  more  than  they  have  for  the  past  ten  months. 
What's  the  trouble?" 

"I  got  a  tip  from  a  woman  that  they  suspect 
a  leak,  and  moreover,  that  it's  going  to  be  plugged  up 
soon.  You'd  better  let  this  be  the  last  for  a  while.  Send 
a  cipher  with  this  lot  to  Felixman  in  Buffalo  that  he'll 
have  to  be  careful." 

"Are  you  sure  it  was  reliable  information,  this  *tip'? 
The  metal  is  needed." 

"It  couldn't  have  come  any  more  accurately.  She's  a 
woman  whose  acquaintance  Eric  Holt  cultivated  on  just 
such  a  chance.1  He  leaves  Brockton  for  good  next  week 
anyway.  The  shipment  of  coal  for  Cliffden  is  due  in  ten 
days,  and  by  that  time  Holt  will  have  to  be  safe  in  the 
United  States.  But  it  means  ruin  for  Cliffden,  and  all 
the  new  machinery  for  steel  shell  forgings.  Herschel,  at 
the  plant,  will  time  the  furnace  firings  to  insure  the  great- 
est loss  of  life  as  well.  These  damned  smart  Canucks  need 
a  lesson  just  about  now.  Think  of  the  motors  burned  out, 
steel  beams  and  girders  twisted  and  tangled  in  ruin !  It'll 
retard  production  for  three  months  at  least.     It'll  be 


A  Bird  of  Passage  216 

worth  Eric  Holt's  position  and  the  years  in  Brockton." 
Jasper  Grandy  essayed  a  grin  of  baleful  glee. 

"But  this  business  about  the  nickel  will  be  the  devil  to 
pay  if  we  don't  watch.  This'll  be  the  last  time  I'll  see 
you  for  two  months,  maybe.  I'll  have  to  go  'round  by 
way  of  Duluth  at  this  time  of  year.  It'd  be  easier  if 
navigation  was  open  on  the  Lakes  and  I  could  make  it  at 
Port  Arthur,  but  we  can't  have  everything  our  way.  By 
all  means  keep  shipping  cattle  to  Buffalo,  and  in  the  mean- 
time find  some  way  of  sending  the  metal  through  at  the 
Soo  or  Detroit,  if  you  can.  You  can  always  reach  me 
with  a  cipher  at  Chicago.  William  Parsons,  you  remem- 
ber,— and  they'll  make  sure  that  I  get  it.  The  office  there 
is  in  touch  with  me  constantly." 

Jasper  Grandy  came  back  on  the  train  next  day  with 
the  intention  of  helping  Eric  Holt  leave  town,  but  it  so 
happened  that  at  the  station  both  Jasper  and  Eric  ran 
straight  into  the  strong  arm  of  the  law.  There  were  no 
newspapers  on  the  train,  and  Jasper  did  not  stop  to  buy 
one  as  he  went  through  the  depot  on  his  way  to  an  ob- 
scure little  hotel  where  he  might  take  Eric  Holt's  apparel 
from  his  bag  and  return  to  the  apartment  on  Sherbrooke 
Street.  Suddenly  a  man  in  plain  clothes  tapped  him  on 
the  arm.  Jasper's  eyes  blinked  dully  through  the 
spectacles. 

"Might  just  as  well  come  quietly,"  said  the  plain  clothes 
man  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone.  "We've  got  the  drop  on 
you." 

"Got  the  drop  on  me?"  echoed  Jasper  politely  and  a 
little  incredulously,  in  his  high-pitched  voice.  "Who 
d'you  think  I  am.'"' 


216  A  Bird  of  Passage 

"Can  that  mystery  stuff!"  mocked  the  detective.  "Can 
it,  I  tell  you.  We  don't  hafta  think  who  you  are,  we 
know!  And  you  can  thank  the  service  that  we  don't  tell 
these  people  around  here  who  you  are  right  now.  They'd 
string  you  up  on  a  lamp  post  for  your  dirty  tricks.  You 
shut  your  mouth  and  come  with  me."  Without  more  ado 
he  led  Jasper  to  an  automobile  waiting  outside,  and  Jasper 
was  enlightened  to  note  that  a  fellow  passenger  was  a  man 
who  had  boarded  his  train  about  twenty  miles  north. 
They  were  taking  every  precaution,  it  seemed.  Ah, — 
a  man  was  innocent  until  he  had  been  proven  guilty, 
thought  Jasper.  Thank  the  Lord  this  had  happened  be- 
fore the  coal  shipment  came  through  for  Cliff  den!  He 
was  only  worried  about  the  outfit  of  Eric's  clothes  in  his 
bag,  and  tried  to  leave  the  valise  behind  him,  but  the 
watchful  "dick"  sternly  bade  him  bring  it  along. 

n 

At  dinner  time,  the  day  Jasper  Grandy  returned  to 
Brockton,  Victor  came  home  late,  alarming  Olga  with  his 
serious  face.  "Whatever  is  the  trouble,  dear?"  she  asked. 
"Has  there  been  bad  news  from  the  front?  You're 
worried !" 

"After  dinner  I'll  tell  you,"  replied  Victor  listlessly; 
but  when  they  had  finished  and  at  his  suggestion  had  gone 
into  his  study,  he  turned  to  Olga,  putting  his  hands  on 
her  shoulders,  holding  her  so  that  he  might  look  into  her 
eyes. 

"I  want  you  to  tell  me  the  truth,  dear,"  he  said  solemn- 
ly.   "Was  Eric  Holt  here  two  days  ago?"    Olga  returned 


A  Bird  of  Passage  217 

his  searching  glance  with  a  clear  gaze  in  which  it  was 
hard  to  imagine  suspicious  thoughts  to  be  mirrored. 

"He  came  for  tea,"  she  answered,  "just  as  he  has  been 
coming  once  a  week  for  the  past  few  months.  It's  been 
very  lonely,  you  know,  staying  home  so  much.  It's  been 
a  break  in  the  monotonous  days  to  have  him  come." 

His  hands  dropped  from  her  shoulders.  There  was  pain 
in  his  face  as  he  looked  resolutely  away,  murmuring  in 
tense  tones,  "Grod  knows  I  want  to  believe  you." 

"Victor!"  his  wife  said  sharply.  "What  are  you  say- 
ing?   What  is  it?    Tell  me." 

"Jamieson  of  the  Dominion  secret  service  came  into  the 
office  to-day.  He  asked  a  few  questions  and  told  me  some 
things.  I  was  for  knocking  him  down,  at  first ;  but  one 
doesn't  do  that  with  the  service.  Those  chaps  usually 
know  what  they're  saying.  And  Jamieson  knew  that  Holt 
had  been  here  for  tea.  Did  you  know  that  Holt  was 
leaving  town  that  night?" 

"No,  dear.  Not  that  night.  He  said  he  was  going 
down  to  Hahf ax  next  week  to  rush  through  some  coal  for 
the  Cliff  den  munitions  factory,  but  nothing  was  said  about 
going  away  day  before  yesterday.  Whatever  has  that  to 
do  with  you  and  me?" 

"That's  what  I  wish  I  knew.  But  one  thing  is  clear, 
please  don't  see  Eric  Holt  when  he  comes  back.  It  will 
mean  a  great  deal  to  us,  I  think." 

Olga  had  had  a  hard  day  and  she  was  tired.  By  nature 
she  was  a  person  of  heights  and  depths  in  her  moods, 
climbing  exuberantly  only  to  slip  back  further  than  she 
had  come,  which  was  a  dangerous  business.     The  steady- 


218  A  Bird  of  Passage 

ing  years  with  Victor  before  the  war  had  been  invaluable, 
and  were  twice  as  desirable  now  that  they  were  gone;  she 
needed  Victor's  help  as  she  had  never  needed  it  before,  and 
she  could  not  believe  he  was  failing  to  understand  now. 
The  world  had  nothing  to  offer,  yet  it  would  take  away 
this  sole  pleasure  out  of  the  old  times,  this  cheerful  person 
who  came  to  tea  and  talked  of  the  war  as  though  he  did 
not  doubt  her  loyalty,  and  talked  of  other  things,  too, — 
books,  and  pictures,  East  Indian  embroideries,  people  in 
general,  people  in  particular,  theories,  theologies,  a  dozen 
sprightly  topics.  It  was  unreasonable  to  take  this  out  of 
her  life  without  an  explanation.  "V^ill  you  kindly  tell 
me  how  I  can  avoid  seeing  Eric  Holt  ?"  she  inquired  a  bit 
coldly,  hurt  by  Victor's  mysterious  manner  and  its  impli- 
cations. "He's  perfectly  familiar  with  my  days,  and  he'd 
know  that  excuses  of  being  busy  would  be  lies.  I  don't 
see  what  right  you  have  to  speak  so  of  one  of  your  own 
committee  members.  Unless,  of  course,  some  of  the  virtu- 
ous have  been  telling  you  what  they  think  about  his  com- 
ing here  to  tea,  or  telling  the  secret  service  to  tell  you. 
I  had  rather  supposed,  you  know,  that  you  believed  that 
I  love  you." 

She  sat  down  in  the  ingle  beside  the  grate.  Against  the 
seasoned  wood  of  the  high  bench  ivory  tints  of  her  neck 
and  shoulders  gleamed  above  her  simple  little  black  dinner 
dress.  They  had  been  expecting  guests  after  dinner, 
guests  who  came  only  for  Victor's  sake,  Olga  perfectly 
well  knew.  Kwang  Shu,  the  wise,  who  had  followed  Olga 
in,  sat  looking  from  one  to  the  other  with  trouble  and 
sorrow  reflected  in  his  great  brown  eyes.    All  was  not  well 


A  Bird  of  Passage  219 

with  the  beloved  mistress.  Victor  walked  up  and  down 
past  the  inglenook.  His  wife's  tone  had  been  sharp  and 
bitter.  She  was  tired,  perhaps,  but  she  did  not  know 
what  he  knew;  that  the  net  was  drawing  close  around 
Eric  Holt  to  catch  him  when  the  "leak"  which  permitted 
nickel  to  be  shipped  through  to  Germany  was  stopped; 
and  that  investigations  of  every  sort  were  crowding  at 
each  other's  heels.  Jamieson  had  mentioned  Soscha  Ho- 
henwald,  too,  in  an  unmistakable  tone,  so  that  Victor  had 
no  choice  than  to  wonder  what  foundation  he  had  for  his 
inferences.  And  now  Olga  was  being  unreasonable  about 
his  request.  Yet  if  what  Jamieson  thought  were  true,  she 
would  have  been  more  cautious  and  guarded,  she  would 
not  have  spoken  as  she  did.  Victor  stopped  his  restless 
pacing. 

"It's  just  this,  dear,"  he  said  gently.  "I  want  you  to 
trust  me  as  you  never  have  before.  You  know  perfectly 
well  that  I  love  you  more  than  hfe  itself,  just  as  I  know 
you  love  me.  But  we're  all  in  rather  a  queer  mood  now, — 
the  whole  world,  I  mean, — and  we  need  trust  and  under- 
standing and  love  more  than  ever.  Will  you  believe  that 
I've  not  listened  to  idle  gossip  because  I  ask  you  not  to 
see  Holt.?" 

Olga  refused  to  meet  his  eyes,  and  would  not  say  yes 
or  no  to  his  question.  Then  presently  the  doorbell  rang 
and  they  sat  in  silence  until  the  maid  came  to  announce 
an  unexpected  visitor,  Victor's  friend,  James  Rutherford. 
The  girl  looked  strangely  excited  and  said,  "Mr.  Ruther- 
ford is  in  a  hurry,  sir.     Something  dreadful's  happened." 

Victor,  with  Olga  following,  went  quickly  out  of  the 


220  A  Bird  of  Passage 

study  and  across  the  hall  to  the  drawing-room  where 
Rutherford,  a  man  some  years  older  than  Victor,  with  a 
keen,  kindly  expression  in  his  face  and  sharp  blue-gray 
eyes,  that  missed  no  detail  of  what  went  on  around  him, 
came  to  meet  them. 

"Jim !"  exclaimed  Victor.  **What's  up  ?  What're  you 
here  for  at  this  time  of  the  evening?"  Rutherford  was 
a  newspaper  man,  on  a  morning  paper,  and  usually  worked 
until  late  in  the  night,  or  as  frequently  into  the  early 
morning.  He  had  a  copy  of  an  afternoon  paper,  which 
he  held  out  to  Victor  who  stared  at  the  headline  in  con- 
sternation. 

"My  God!  The  ClifFden  plant?  No,  it  can't  be!" 
he  exclaimed.  "Look  at  this,  Olga.  There's  been  an 
explosion  in  the  munitions  factory.  At  least  fifty  girls 
injured.    I  hadn't  seen  the  papers  this  afternoon." 

Rutherford  put  a  detaining  hand  on  Victor's  arm. 
*'Don't  read  any  more,  old  fellow,  until  I've  told  you  a  few 
things.  You  two  sit  down.  I've  something  to  say.  That's 
why  I  came  up  here,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  CoUinson 
called  me  in  and  put  me  on  this  story.  It  was  my  day 
off,  but  that's  beside  the  point."  Looking  at  his  set  face, 
Victor  and  Olga  obeyed  him  almost  blindly  and  sat  down 
on  a  big  davenport  at  right  angles  to  the  fire.  Ruther- 
ford took  the  carved  bench  opposite  where  Olga  had  sat 
two  days  before  when  Eric  Holt  had  come  for  tea. 

"The  explosion  isn't  the  biggest  part  of  the  story,"  he 
began,  "but  that  paper's  the  first  extra  out  on  it,  and 
naturally  it's  played  up.  They've  found  since  that  not 
more  than  two  or  three  were  injured.     But  you  see  it 


A  Bird  of  Passage  221 

broke  just  right  for  the  Sphere.  The  afternoon  papers 
have  had  plenty  of  time  on  it,  which  is  where  the  story 
concerns  you.  The  Sphere  assigned  Dodd,  their  star  re- 
porter.   Does  that  mean  anything  to  you.'"* 

Victor  frowned  a  moment.  "Dodd's  never  been  very 
friendly  to  me,"  he  said.  "Of  course  he*s  too  good  a 
newspaper  man  to  let  his  personal  opinions  affect  his 
stories,  but  I've  never  met  him  without  feeling  that  he  had 
a  grudge  against  me  for  something.  In  all  these  cam- 
paigns, when  he's  covered  them,  I've  had  an  idea  that  he 
was  waiting,  waiting,  wishing  he  might  'get'  something 
on  me.  Perhaps  it's  a  silly  notion,  but  that's  all  I  know 
of  him.  The  other  boys  on  the  papers  seem  to  like 
him." 

"Yes,  they  do.  But  I've  known  him  for  years,  and  I 
think  you're  right  about  the  grudge.  I  can  tell  you  how 
it  started, — from  the  most  foolish  little  thing  in  the 
world, — but  Dodd  was  always  a  temperamental  youngster 
with  very  definite  prejudices.  It's  marvelous  to  me  how 
he  can  write  as  well  as  he  does,  and  as  fairly,  when  I 
know  he  nurses  fierce  loves  and  fierce  hatreds ;  in  his  heart 
championing  one  cause  and  despising  another,  often  for 
the  most  peculiarly  absurd  reasons.  But  he's  been  on 
the  square  in  his  work. 

"However,  I  worked  on  the  Sphere  myself  for  a  while, 
some  years  ago  when  Dodd  was  just  breaking  into  the 
game.  This  was  about  the  time  you  came  to  Brockton, 
Olga.  They  put  him  on  the  hotels,  where  he  was  strain- 
ing every  nerve  to  make  good.  Victor,  here,  has  always 
been  fairly  well-known  in  town  and  one  of  the  best  stories 


222  A  Bird  of  Passage 

he  could  have  contributed  to  the  press  was  his  romantic 
marriage."  With  a  faint  smile  Rutherford  bowed  to 
Olga,  who  wondered  where  this  lengthy  prelude  was  lead- 
ing them. 

"It  seems  that  Dodd  had  the  first  tip  on  your  arrival 
that  day,  years  ago,  when  a  room  clerk  at  the  Queen's 
told  him  Mrs.  Victor  Renfrew  was  registered  there."  Olga, 
and  Victor  exchanged  glances,  as  Rutherford  continued. 
"The  clerk  had  described  you,  Olga,  rather  prettily,  and 
both  of  them  knew  there  was  a  good  story  lurking  some- 
where. But  Olga  refused  to  see  the  reporter  and  later 
Victor  wouldn't  talk  either.  In  fact,  that  evening,  if  you 
remember,  when  Dodd  cornered  you,  you  threatened  to 
go  over  his  head  to  keep  the  story  of  your  coming  out 
of  the  paper.  You  had  quite  a  set-to,  I  believe,  and  in  the 
end  he  was  so  persistent  that  you  did  go  to  the  m.  e., 
Boothby,  it  was  then,  you  know,  and  the  young  man  was 
officially  requested  to  forget  the  story ;  though  there  was 
a  nice  little  scoop  with  a  lot  of  human  interest, — the  bride 
and  groom  arriving  by  different  trains  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing." 

"Get  to  the  point,  will  you?"  said  Victor,  abruptly.  "I 
remember  all  that.  I  was  pretty  mad  at  young  Dodd's 
tenacity.  It  would  have  been  mighty  embarrassing  to 
both  Olga  and  me  if  some  fool  story  had  been  published. 
Later  I  gave  out  a  simple  announcement  of  our  return,  I 
remember.  But  what's  that  got  to  do  with  the  explosion 
and  us.'*    Hurry  up,  can't  you.**" 

Rutherford  pulled  another  newspaper  from  his  hip- 
pocket.  "This  is  the  last  edition  of  the  Sphere,  with  a 
totally  new  angle  on  the  explosion  story,  signed  by  Dodd. 


A  Bird  of  Passage  223 

Go  slow  when  you  read  it,  and  remember  everything  I've 
said."  He  handed  the  paper  to  Victor.  Olga  moved 
closer  to  her  husband  on  the  davenport  to  look  on  as  he 
began  to  read.     The  headlines  glared  black  and  hard. 

"SPY  PLOT  SUSPECTED  IN  CLIFFDEN 
EXPLOSION 

Cordite  Found  in  Coal;  Herschel,  Fireman, 
Arrested." 

Down  the  column,  under  Dodd's  signature,  was  the 
story : 

"Definite  connections  between  the  explosion  which  oc- 
curred at  one  o'clock  this  afternoon  in  the  Cliffden  Am- 
munition Company,  Ltd.,  and  the  activity  of  German 
secret  agents  has  been  established  by  the  discovery  of  a 
quantity  of  cordite,  an  explosive,  smokeless  propellant  in 
use  in  the  British  army  and  navy,  in  a  shipment  of  coal 
approximating  500  tons  recently  received  at  the  Cliffden 
factories.  Arrest  of  the  head  fireman,  Peter  Herschel,  at 
the  steel  shell  forgings  plant,  followed  an  investigation 
made  upon  the  suggestion  of  another  fireman  in  the  gangs 
who  first  noticed  a  thick,  cylindrical  piece  of  the  cordite 
in  a  shovelful  of  coal  heaped  into  one  of  the  furnaces 
prior  to  the  explosion.  Other  arrests  will  follow,  the 
police  say. 

"Upon  examination,  all  the  coal  in  the  shipment  was 
found  mixed  with  rods  of  cordite  in  varying  lengths  and 
thicknesses,  as  though  especially  prepared  for  this  pur- 
pose, since  the  charge  of  cordite  for  a  revolver  is  not 
larger  than  a  millimeter  in  diameter  and  the  big  gun 


224  A  Bird  of  Passage 

charges  are  upwards  of  five  millimeters.  Authorities  at 
the  factory  will  not  divulge  the  source  from  whence  the 
coal  was  obtained,  but  in  a  statement  to  the  police,  J.  G. 
Jenks,  general  manager  of  the  Cliff  den  company,  said  that 
this  particular  shipment  was  not  expected  at  the  factory 
until  next  week  when  two  new  furnaces  were  to  have  been 
put  into  operation.  Mr.  Jenks  also  pointed  out  the  coinci- 
dence between  this  and  the  fact  that  the  shrapnel  shell 
plant  on  Silham  Road  was  to  have  doubled  its  force  of 
operatives  next  week. 

"Herschel,  the  fireman  arrested,  was  off  duty  when  the 
explosions  occurred,  but  peculiar  orders  which  he  had 
given  to  his  assistant  and  reported  by  the  latter  after 
the  catastrophe  led  to  the  man's  apprehension.  Due  to 
a  misunderstanding  of  one  of  Herschel's  orders,  the  ex- 
tent of  damage  and  number  of  the  injured  were  fortun- 
ately not  so  great  as  first  reported. 

"  'If  all  goes  well,  we  should  be  able  to  resume  our  regu- 
lar schedule  of  operations  within  a  week,'  said  Mr.  Jenks, 
speaking  for  publication.  *We  are  thankful  that  the  dam- 
age to  the  plant  was  not  greater  and  that  no  lives  were 
lost.  Perhaps  it  is  an  embittering  thing  to  see  one  of 
Britain's  strong  arms  crippled  in  such  fashion,  but  Can- 
ada's splendid  bull-dog  spirit  will  predominate  and  in  a 
few  weeks  this  plant  will  again  be  busy  turning  out  better 
forgings,  if  possible,  than  ever  before.' 

"This  noble  and  cheery  attitude  on  the  part  of  the 
factory  executives  does  not  deter  from  the  fact  that  a 
ring  of  spies  is  centered  in  Brockton.  The  jwlice  promise 
the  apprehension  of  a  leader  of  the  ring  within  a  few 
hours.    He  is  a  man  fairly  well-known  in  this  city,  where 


A  Bird  of  Passage  225 

he  has  lived  for  many  years,  and  of  late  has  been  brazenly 
carrying  on  his  dastardly  plotting.  Apparently  he  has 
involved  in  his  affairs  the  wife  of  a  prominent  business 
3ian  by  working  on  her  sympathies,  which  sympathies 
some  say  have  been  decidedly  with  the  Central  Powers, 
since  her  birthplace  was  on  the  Continent  and  not  many 
years  ago  she  was  visited  by  a  relative  who  is  of  the 
nobility  in  the  enemy's  country.  Whether  or  not  this 
lady  has  been  accessory  after  the  fact  will  undoubtedly  be 
determined  from  the  prisoner's  confession." 

There  was  more  to  the  story,  names  and  addresses  of 
the  injured  and  similar  information,  but  Dodd's  prestige 
as  a  special  writer  had  enabled  him  to  inject  an  observa- 
tion verging  upon  the  liberty  of  an  editorial.  So  sure 
were  the  police  of  the  capture  of  Eric  Holt,  alias  Jasper 
Grandy,  that  the  chief,  who  was  a  friend  of  Dodd's  and 
indebted  to  him  for  not  a  few  favors  in  the  past,  per- 
mitted him  to  write  enough  to  save  his  paper  from  the 
ignominy  of  a  complete  scoop  when  the  arrest  of  Holt 
might  safely  be  announced  late  in  the  evening ;  and  Dodd's 
own  memory  of  Mrs.  Renfrew  and  the  beginning  of  her 
career  in  Brockton,  coupled  with  rumors  he  had  heard 
from  friends  in  the  secret  service,  made  him  dare  to  add 
the  few  bold  sentences  in  the  hope  of  forcing  her  hand  if 
she  was  really  linked  with  the  sinister  chain  of  events. 
Personally  he  firmly  believed  her  guilty,  and  thought  the 
stirring  times  and  the  circumstances  of  the  explosion 
justified  him  in  presupposing  as  he  did. 

When  Victor  and  Olga  came  to  the  paragraph  of  in- 
nuendo Rutherford  watched  them  closely.  Having  always 
felt  the  utmost  sympathy  for  Olga  Renfrew,  he  had  long 


226  A  Bird  of  Passage 

since  classified  these  spy  stories  as  silly  nonsense  and  was 
satisfied  that  the  girl  was  absolutely  innocent  of  any 
machinations  against  the  government.  She  sat  upright  on 
the  davenport,  looking  with  piteous  wide  eyes  at  her  hus- 
band. Through  his  mind  a  thousand  thoughts  were  surg- 
ing: Soscha  Hohenwald's  persistency,  the  acquaintance 
with  Eric  Holt,  Jamieson's  interview  in  the  office.  Holt 
must  be  the  man  the  story  hinted  at.  And  his  wife !  It 
couldn't  be  possible.  Rutherford,  who  knew  the  workings 
of  Victor's  mind,  could  be  silent  no  longer. 

"Dodd's  overstepped  himself  this  time,  old  fellow.  You 
mustn't  take  it  too  hard,  y'  know.  The  mischief's  done, 
and  there  isn't  much  that'll  remedy  it.  We  can  make  him 
explain  why  he  dared  write  such  a  thing  and  let  it  get 
into  print,  but  there'll  be  no  good  of  dragging  in  names 
now. 

"Of  course  it's  obvious  whom  he  means,  but  it's  equally 
obvious  to  me,  or  any  one  else  who  knows  that  there  isn't 
any  foundation  for  his  insinuations  in  the  whole  dirty 
business.  Dodd's  let  his  patriotism  and  his  prejudices 
get  the  best  of  him  for  once.'* 

Victor  looked  at  Rutherford  with  glassy  eyes.  "Jamie- 
son's  story  was  like  that,  too,"  he  said,  dully.  Blindly, 
gropingly,  he  put  out  a  hand  to  Olga;  faith  and  trust 
and  love  were  battling  against  these  other  forces;  and 
just  this  simple,  little  gesture  was  enough  to  send  crash- 
ing in  ruin  the  walls  of  Olga's  fortitude.  Victor  was  her 
lover;  he  must  understand,  else  her  heart  would  break 
under  its  load  of  sadness, — and  thinking  so  she  flung  her- 
self upon  him,  weeping  in  an  agony  of  terror. 

**Say  you  believe  me,"  she  sobbed,  beating  a  clenched 


A  Bird  of  Passage  227 

fist  against  his  shoulder,  her  face  buried  in  his  coat.  "Say 
30U  believe  me !  The  paper  lies.  I  don't  know  anything 
of  Eric  Holt's  affairs,  Victor.  Do  you  hear  me?  Say 
you  love  me."  Her  voice  was  hysterically  shrill,  cajoling, 
pleading,  then  rising  to  a  high  pitch  of  sharpness.  Ruth- 
erford saw  Victor  put  his  arms  about  her,  almost  mechan- 
ically soothing  her  and  caressing  her  brown  hair,  but 
looking  ahead  the  while  with  that  fixed,  unseeing  gaze. 
Kwang  Shu  came  noiselessly  into  the  room,  having  heard 
his  mistress'  querulous  tone.  He  stood  beside  the  daven- 
port, perplexed,  aware  that  something  was  amiss.  Then 
suddenly  Rutherford  sprang  forward  with  a  cry  on  his 
lips.  Renfrew  had,  on  that  instant,  lifted  his  head  quickly 
and  his  eyes  widened  with  a  bright,  new  vision.  He  seemed 
about  to  speak  with  reassuring  tenderness  to  Olga  when 
a  shudder  of  pain  brought  him  stiffly  erect.  As  Olga,  con- 
scious of  this  convulsion,  drew  away,  he  tried  to  speak, 
but  another  wave  of  pain  seemed  to  sweep  him.  With  one 
hand  pressed  tightly  over  his  heart  and  the  other  clutch- 
ing at  his  collar,  he  gasped  once  sharply,  tried  again  to 
speak,  and  fell  back  on  the  davenport,  his  arm  relaxed 
and  his  lower  jaw  sagging. 

"Victor!"  shrieked  Olga,  seizing  him  by  the  shoulders 
as  if  to  shake  open  the  closing  eyelids.  "Victor!  What 
is  it?    Answer  me." 

Rutherford  was  at  her  side,  feeling  for  Victor's  pulse 
and  bending  to  tear  open  his  coat  and  put  an  ear  to  his 
heart.  But  there  was  no  faintly  flickering  sign  of  life. 
The  shock  and  the  struggle  within  his  soul  had  been  too 
much  for  a  heart  already  weakened  and  strained  by  stren- 
uous work  in  the  past  few  years.    The  malady  had  caught 


228  A  Bird  of  Passage 

him,  even  as  old  Doctor  Brent  had  said  it  might,  suddenly 
when  the  heart  was  called  upon  for  more  than  it  could 
endure.  "WTiat  is  it,  Mr.  Jimmie.'"'  cried  Olga,  grasping 
his  arm.  "Mr.  Jimmie"  had  been  her  name  for  this  friend 
of  Victor's  of  whom  she  was  also  fond.  "He  isn't  dead?" 
Her  voice  sank  to  an  unwilling  whisper  that  died  into  a 
moan  as  Rutherford,  straightening  up  from  over  Victor's 
body,  nodded  in  reply. 

m. 

"God  help  me  if  that  wasn't  the  worst  experience  of 
my  life,"  said  Jim  Rutherford,  later  at  the  Union  club. 
"To  see  that  little  woman  having  to  stand  those  two 
terrific  shocks,  one  right  on  top  of  the  other  was  awful, 
especially  when  I'd  been  responsible  for  it,  y'  know,  after 
a  fashion.  Bringing  them  the  paper,  and  all  that.  And 
the  baby, — little  Stanbury's  four  and  a  half,  or  some  such 
age, — wakened  in  the  nursery  when  someone  was  phoning 
outside  in  the  hall  for  a  doctor,  so  that  plucky  mite  of  a 
girl, — Renfrew's  wife  isri't  much  more, — brought  the 
chubby  youngster  in  his  little  flannel  pajamas,  with  a 
blanket  around  him,  downstairs  *where  papa's  sleeping.' 
She  held  her  boy  up  to  kiss  Victor's  lips  that  were  still 
warm  and  human.  'Say  good-night  to  papa,'  she  told  the 
child.  *He's  going  away  from  us  for  a  while  and  we 
mustn't  disturb  him.' 

"Gad,  I  thought  every  moment  she'd  break  down,  but 
she  didn't.  Where  she  got  the  strength  and  courage 
from,  I  don't  know.  It  was  absolutely  the  most  superb 
and  the  saddest  thing  I've  ever  seen.  When  she  came  back 
downstairs  though,  afterwards,  to  sit  and  hold  Victor's 


A  Bird  of  Passage  229 

hand,  then  she  did  let  go.  Sobbed  so  hard  that  the  doc- 
tor had  a  patient  on  his  hands  all  right  when  he  got 
there.  I  felt  an  utter  fool,  I  was  so  helpless  to  comfort 
her.  , 

*'But  at  least  IVe  done  something;  I've  had  a  session 
with  Dodd  and  Griffith,  who  owns  the  Sphere,  and  they're 
going  to  make  it  right.  Griffith  had  met  Mrs.  Renfrew 
when  she  was  a  bride,  and  he  was  M.  P.  for  the  district. 
It  seems  that  Holt  confessed  to  the  charges,  but  he  swore 
up  and  down  that  he  was  working  alone.  He'd  slipped 
up  in  his  plan  some  way  and  the  coal  mixed  with  the  ex- 
plosive had  been  sent  a  week  too  soon.  They  told  him 
about  Renfrew's  death,  and  he  broke  down,  swearing  that 
he  hadn't  ever  meant  any  harm  to  Olga  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  he'd  been  obliged  to  go  to  their  house  frequently 
because  Victor  was  so  prominent  in  affairs  Holt  wanted  to 
know  more  about.  So  Griffith  agreed  to  have  a  story  pul>- 
lished, — without  mentioning  names,  of  course,  that  will 
clear  Mrs.  Renfrew  entirely  of  any  suspicions  directed 
against  her.    But  the  whole  thing's  a  sorry  mess." 


CHAPTER  XIV 


During  the  days  following  upon  Victor's  death,  Olga 
was  faced  with  the  question  of  life  left  undesirable.  Never 
had  she  been  so  completely  adrift,  nor  ironically  enough 
never  so  free.  In  the  room  that  had  once  been  hers  and 
his  she  was  packing  a  chest  full  of  Victor's  clothes  to  be 
sent  to  the  Belgians,  and  in  some  way  the  sight  of  these 
inanimate  things,  these  garments  which  had  acquired  a 
certain  personality  of  their  own,  brought  again  to  her 
in  a  keen,  rushing  flood  the  sense  of  her  loneliness.  Cold 
rays  of  afternoon  sunlight  came  through  a  western  win- 
dow and  touched  the  folds  of  a  gray  tweed  coat  Olg^  had 
just  taken  in  her  hands.  How  poignant  the  feeling  roused 
by  contact  with  the  rough  cloth !  She  closed  her  eyes  and 
thought  of  Victor  as  she  had  once  seen  him  in  front  of 
the  little  house  in  the  woods,  practising  strokes  with  a 
golf  stick.  He  was  wearing  this  same  coat,  and  she  had 
watched  the  firm  play  of  muscles  in  his  back  as  he  swung 
the  club.  Even  the  heavy  tweed  could  not  fully  conceal 
the  strength  of  him,  this  splendid  husband  of  hers  who 
was  gone.  A  faint  smell  of  tobacco  and  wool.  The  same 
vague  masculine  combination  of  odors  associated  with  his 
embraces  in  the  daylight,  out-of-doors,  assailed  her  nostrils 
as  she  buried  her  face  in  the  coat;  but  now  there  were  no 

230 


A  Bird  of  Passage  231 

arms  about  her,  no  voice  to  whisper  love  words  in  her  ear, 
no  hand  to  smooth  her  hair  with  gentle  touch. 

Alone !  It  had  never  before  seemed  such  a  ghastly 
word.  In  haste,  lest  sobs  should  overcome  her,  she  put 
the  coat  hurriedly  in  the  chest.  One  by  one  she  picked  up 
the  other  garments,  determined  to  withstand  weakness  as 
best  she  might.  Whilst  she  thrust  them  resolutely  away 
her  mind  was  busy  with  plans. 

She  would  not  return  to  Europe  and  Aunt  Soscha ;  she 
could  not  even  think  of  going  back  to  London  where  wel- 
come awaited  her  from  Alix  and  Alfred  Sidney.  No !  She 
was  young  and  there  would  be  no  turning  back  just  yet, 
even  though  she  would  not  remain  in  Brockton.  She  had 
hoped  to  love  the  city  of  homes  and  tree-lined  walks 
peopled  with  fresh  young  faces  or  aristocratic  older  ones, 
but  after  these  dreadful  days  she  could  only  regard  it  as 
representing  a  life  far  removed  from  her  own.  There  was 
nothing  to  do  but  pick  herself  up  and  go  stumbling  on 
elsewhere.  In  these  days  of  war  everything  was  in  tur- 
moil, yet  the  thought  came,  "The  United  States !"  Olga 
could  not,  for  her  little  son's  sake,  go  into  war  work,  but 
she  might  take  him  and  go  to  the  "land  of  the  free  and 
the  home  of  the  brave."  Was  that  not  the  phrase  they 
sang,  those  Americans?  "Free," — ah,  yes!  She,  Olga 
Renfrew,  was  quite,  quite  free  now  to  do  those  indefinite 
things  that  had  so  often  thrilled  her  to  contemplate. 

Last  of  all  in  the  heap  of  clothes  was  a  worn  dressing 
gown.  Intimate  garment,  recalling  many  a  precious  hour 
when  two  people  had  forgotten  all  the  world  but  them- 
selves and  their  happiness.  Selfish  garment,  stifling  her 
sad  heart  in  its  silken  folds.     No!     That  should  not  be 


232  A  Bird  of  Passage 

sent.  No  stranger  should  ever  be  wrapped  in  this  beloved 
robe.  Olga  held  it  to  her  passionately,  and  even  in  this 
moment  came  a  perverse  imp  of  humor  to  whisper,  "No 
Belgian  would  thank  you  in  these  cold,  tempestuous  days 
for  a  silk  dressing  gown." 

Rising,  Olga  shut  the  lid  of  the  chest  and  thrust  the 
robe  into  a  drawer.  The  sun  had  set  and  from  the  snowy 
dusk  outside  purple  shadows  were  creeping  in  to  fill  the 
room.  It  was  a  week  and  two  days  since  Victor  had  died. 
Again  that  dreadful  word  of  mockery,  "Alone!"  The 
room  was  crowding  down  upon  her,  smothering  her  senses, 
and  with  one  thought  of  escape,  she  seized  a  heavy  wrap 
and  ran  down  to  stand  for  a  moment  in  the  quiet  garden 
with  the  velvety  sky  and  its  spangling  of  stars  overhead. 
There  was  no  sound  save  the  faint  rumbling  of  a  car  in 
Wales  Street  and  the  hollowing  beat  of  a  horse's  hoofs. 

It  was  in  this  instant  that  the  surety  of  Victor's  pres- 
ence came  to  her  so  definitely  that  it  seemed  as  though  by 
advancing  a  step  she  might  actually  touch  him  or  feel 
his  arms  about  her.  Scarce  daring  to  breathe,  she  stood 
motionless,  her  soul  filling  with  exquisite  comfort.  He  was 
there,  she  knew,  trying  to  help  her.  She  had  never  been 
more  certain  of  anything  in  the  world. 

"Victor  dear,"  she  said  softly,  at  last,  stretching  out 
her  arms.  "Thank  you  for  coming.  Help  me  always. 
Send  me  strength  and  guidance."  A  moment  of  that  won- 
derful assurance,  and  the  presence  was  gone. 

Yet  from  that  night  she  made  her  plans  more  serenely, 
for  her  sore  heart  ached  less  cruelly  and  she  had  the 
happiness  one  feels  in  knowledge  of  a  sweet  secret  shared 
with  someone  beloved.     Often  she  went  out  into  the  night 


A  Bird  of  Passage  233 

to  wait  for  another  revelation  of  the  Presence,  until  there 
came  the  thought  that  somewhere  in  that  Beyond  where 
Victor  preceded  her,  he  was  advancing,  going  forward 
with  some  task  dear  to  his  heart.  Perhaps  it  would 
help  him  to  progress  if  he  were  not  earthbound  by  claims 
upon  him.  Olga  could  not  realize  from  whence  had  come 
this  assurance,  but  her  knowledge  seemed  a&  indisputable 
as  a  proven  theory  on  a  printed  page.  She  knew,  and 
nothing  else  mattered. 

So  it  helped  her  to  play  a  brave  game  of  aiding  Victor 
who  was  engaged  in  some  cherished  pursuit.  When  she 
went  into  the  starry  quietness  now,  it  was  to  keep  tryst 
with  Victor's  spirit,  to  tell  him  her  plans  and  decisions.  It 
was  enough  for  her  merely  to  tell  him  thus;  she  found 
herself  requiring  no  visions. 


New  York  was  not  entirely  a  strange  place  to  Olga, 
who  had  gone  down,  as  many  Brockton  people  do,  to  shop 
for  a  few  days  in  the  fascinating  stores  along  the  One 
Street  in  North  America. 

The  apartment  she  had  taken  now  with  baby  Stanbury, 
and  Braxton  to  "housekeep,"  was  a  furnished  one  left  by 
a  friend  of  Genevieve  Rankin's  gone  to  England  to  be- 
come a  teacher  of  Braille  in  the  Rankins'  hospital,  now 
growing  famous.  "Mr.  Jimmie"  Rutherford  had  helped 
her  in  the  change  from  Brockton  to  New  York,  adjusting 
financial  matters  or  packing  fragile  china  with  equal  skill 
and  interest.  Stock  in  Victor's  pulp  mills,  and  other  in- 
vestments, had  provided  Olga  with  sufficient  income,  even 
though  her  personal  revenues  from  abroad  were  withheld. 


234  A  Bird  of  Passage 

It  made  little  difference  in  her  program  to  find  that  money 
in  Austrian  and  Russian  banks  could  not  be  obtained. 

Save  for  the  sense  of  loss,  which  time  had  not  jet  dulled, 
Olga  was  happy  in  this  new  life.  New  York  was  a  wonder 
city.  A  city  of  women  and  middle-aged  men.  Of  course 
the  war  had  sent  all  the  younger  men  away,  but  even 
were  they  in  town,  she  would  have  been  as  certain  of  their 
comparative  unimportance  in  the  scheme  of  things.  These 
older  men  were  invariably  the  business  heads ;  the  women 
and  girls  carried  on  the  details  of  business  management, 
or  frequently  some  brilliant  \\  oman  was  entirely  in  charge 
of  a  firm's  activities.  Surely,  thought  Olga,  here  was  the 
promised  land  for  ambitious  womankind.  Such  assurance 
she  had  never  known  before,  as  that  which  radiated  from 
the  young  women  whom  she  saw  in  the  stores  or  along 
Fifth  Avenue.  Those  not  in  uniform  were  in  smart  suits 
with  short  skirts  above  legs  in  sheerest  stockings,  their 
throats  swathed  in  furs,  little  hats  cocked  gaily  over 
hair  bobbed  or  puffed  out  at  the  ears  in  the  beginning 
of  the  ridiculous  mode  which  was  to  sweep  the  country 
from  Main  Street  to  Main  Street.  And  the  faces !  Often 
carmine  lips  and  cheeks,  penciled  shadows  under  bright 
eyes  where  thin  plucked  brows  arched  vapidly.  Yet  Olga 
was  amazed  to  discover  that  these  were  not  creatures 
obliged  to  hide  the  creeping  marks  of  time;  they  were 
girls,  young  things,  and  not  those  who  had  a  sinister 
business  in  the  attraction  of  attention  to  themselves. 
These  girls  reere  young  America,  helping  to  direct  the 
affairs  of  a  great  country;  they  were  free,  as  girls  on 
the  continent  could  never  achieve  freedom.  Olga  imagined 
the  companions  of  her  convent  days  let  loose  in  the  world 


A  Bird  of  Passage  235 

to  make  a  living.  Impossible  thought!  This  war  which 
was  making  the  "world  safe  for  Democracy,"  what  would 
it  do  for  those  sheltered  beings  in  Vienna  and  the  poor 
peasants  of  Russia,  both  classes  equally  at  the  depth  of 
a  chasm  of  ignorance?  The  lovely  Julie  Auersperg,  gen- 
tle Countess  Dericote,  haunting  Olga's  memory  like  a 
wraith;  or  Marya,  the  stubbornly  brave  little  peasant, 
and  Feodor,  the  innocent,  capable  of  martyrdom  for  a 
great  cause.  Where  were  they  now?  What  had  the  war 
done  for  them?  and  Aunt  Soscha?  Never  through  any 
of  the  newspapers  had  come  the  least  hint  of  a  Countess 
Hohenwald ;  whether  she  had  been  killed,  or  had  emigrated 
to  Switzerland,  Olga  could  not  tell.  Two  years  ago  there 
had  been  a  letter  from  Emelie  von  Lichtenstein  at  St. 
Moritz,  but  it  contained  no  word  of  Soscha.  Such 
thoughts  came  to  her  as  she  watched  the  American  girls 
in  the  stores  and  on  the  streets.  "Almost  all  of  them  are 
like  princesses,"  she  decided;  "they  carry  their  heads  so 
high." 

The  friend  of  Genevieve  Rankin's  had  recommended  a 
private  kindergarten  for  little  Stanbury,  "going  on  six" 
years  old,  and  the  very  fact  that  he  had  been  established 
there  left  Olga  with  even  more  time.  Here  was  her  chance 
to  join  the  procession  of  American  girls  and  learn  the 
secret  of  their  freedom  and  happiness.  With  what  else 
might  she,  Olga  Renfrew,  employ  her  time?  Idly  brush- 
ing out  her  shining  bronze  hair  one  morning  in  the  cheerful 
little  boudoir  fronting  on  Park  Avenue,  high  enough  to 
give  a  pleasant  view  of  roofs  and  the  spires  of  St.  Pat- 
rick's to  the  south,  she  made  mental  inventory  of  herself. 
Voice?     No!     It  was  a  pleasant  and  cultured  speaking 


236  A  Bird  of  Passage 

voice,  but  not  strong  enough  for  singing.  Figure  and 
general  appearance?  Slender  and  smart  enough,  but  the 
stage  held  no  inducements  and  it  wasn't  necessary  to  be 
a  mannequin — one  only  did  that  for  the  sake  of  the  money, 
and  rightly.  Think  how  unpleasant  it  would  be  to  parade 
about  before  stupid  old  dowagers  and  leering  old  men. 
Pfah!  Olga  shook  her  head  and  plied  the  brush  more 
vigorously.  She  could  neither  paint  nor  write  well  enough 
to  justify  an  attempt  at  a  career  in  these  branches  of 
the  arts.  One  should  feel  the  "call"  to  them  as  truly  as 
to  the  office  of  a  clergyman  or  priest.  Yet  surely  there 
must  be  something. 

She  left  the  dressing  table  and  went  to  stand  at  the 
north  window,  where  rose  the  tall  bulk  of  the  Plaza,  an 
absence  of  other  structures  beyond  it  denoting  the  great 
expanse  of  Central  Park.  Still  further  north  was  that 
American  university — Columbia  College.  Why  could  she 
not  study  there?  The  classics,  literature, — or  law  would 
be  interesting.  Everyone  should  be  informed  about  the 
law,  for  such  knowledge  might  have  saved  poor  Feodor, 
long  ago.  Why  was  it  that  her  thoughts  turned  so  con- 
stantly to  him?  Could  he  be  alive  and  released  from 
prison?    Perhaps  he  had  joined  the  army  and  been  killed. 

Suddenly  came  a  thought  of  the  courses  in  journalism, 
of  which  she  had  heard  a  great  deal  in  Brockton,  and 
which,  curiously  enough,  she  did  not  associate  with  "writ- 
ing," as  such.  Jimmie  Rutherford  was  always  speaking 
of  the  work  of  this  American  Pulitzer,  who  had  founded 
the  school  and  refuted  the  argument  that  reporters  were 
bom,  not  made.  "Reporters,"  indeed !  Olga  looked  back 
with  a  shudder  to  that  dreadful  day  when  the  venom  of 


A  Bird  of  Passage  237 

some  reporter  had  been  allowed  to  spread  into  his  story 
and  bring  swift  death  unexpectedly  to  an  innocent  man. 
Could  she  ever  endure  a  life  which  bred  such  men  as 
Dodd,  of  the  Sphere?  But  he  must  be  the  exception,  not 
the  rule.  There  were  others  who  had  been  fine  gentlemen, 
friends  of  Victor's,  possessed  of  a  certain  gallant  knight- 
errantry.  Well,  at  least  she  could  investigate  the  possi- 
bility of  a  woman  going  into  that  sort  of  work,  visit 
Columbia,  and  try  to  enter  the  school  of  journalism. 

Turning  from  the  window  she  noted  that  men  were  al- 
ready sitting  at  luncheon  tables  in  the  windows  of  the 
Racquet  Club,  across  the  way.  A  glance  at  her  enameled 
clock  showed  it  to  be  close  to  half  past  twelve!  Scanda- 
lous!    The  morning  had  gone  with  her  dreaming. 

m 

It  had  not  been  easy  as  thought  to  enter  the  school, 
for  Olga's  only  credits  from  the  Viennese  and  German 
convents  were  not  acceptable.  In  vain  she  tried  to  con- 
vince the  authorities  that  she  was  quite  harmless — that 
she  had  been  only  a  simple  school  girl  in  Berlin.  But  no, 
these  were  war  times,  and  one  took  no  chances.  The 
most  they  could  do  was  to  let  her  enroll  as  a  special 
student  who  would  not  be  permitted  to  work  for  credit. 
Her  own  efforts  and  the  results  obtained  would  determine 
her  further  fate.  There  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  go 
on  as  best  she  might  and  trust  that  fortune  would  favor 
her.  At  least  it  was  something  with  which  to  occupy  her 
time. 

The  newspaper  fraternity  being  a  far-reaching  and 
cautious  one,  with  numberless  news  sources  not  apparent 


238  A  Bird  of  Passage 

to  the  casual  observer,  and  as  many  little  connections 
and  affiliations  as  it  counts  istafF  members,  the  entrance 
of  such  a  student  as  Olga  into  the  profession  was  not 
entirely  unnoticed.  At  any  rate  there  had  appeared  in 
the  class-room  one  day  a  reporter  introduced  to  Olga  by 
a  mutual  friend  as  Chaunce  Preston,  dramatic  critic  for 
a  publication  which  had  taken  one  of  Olga's  book  reviews. 
For  in  the  course  of  time  she  had  grown  interested  in  her 
work  and  fond  of  the  big  brick  and  stone  building  where 
she  learned  the  meaning  of  such  mysterious  words  as 
"copy"  and  "scoop,"  "galley"  and  "morgue."  Much 
study,  coupled  with  perusals  of  the  papers  for  comparison 
of  style,  had  taught  Olga  the  essential  difference  between 
editorials,  the  news  story,  dramatic,  musical,  and  artistic 
criticisms,  feature  stories,  and  book  reviews.  She  found 
that  her  life  abroad  and  her  knowledge  of  the  courts  stood 
her  in  good  stead;  she  had  more  "background"  than  the 
average  boy  or  girl  who  had  collected  enough  money  to 
bring  him  from  the  gaudy  pleasures  of  Lima,  Ohio,  to 
embrace  the  profession  of  a  journalist  in  New  York  City. 
Gradually  she  had  made  an  impression,  as  the  oflFer  for 
her  book  reviews  indicated,  and  meeting  this  Mr.  Preston 
then,  she  looked  upon  him  as  a  sort  of  big  brother  in  the 
profession,  since  he  had  on  his  part  shown  appreciation 
of  her  progress.  He  had  been  in  service  with  the  American 
forces  overseas,  where  he  lost  two  fingers  in  the  accidental 
explosion  of  a  hand  grenade,  and  after  some  attempt  to 
find  another  place  in  the  military  machine  had  returned 
to  his  first  love,  the  theatre,  regarded  by  him  with  the 
objectivity  of  the  true  critic.     He  had  joined  the  secret 


A  Bird  of  Passage  239 

service  as  hundreds  of  other  men  were  doing,  and  found 
himself  chosen  to  keep  a  supervisory  eye  upon  a  young 
foreigner  at  the  Pulitzer  school  who  had  boldly  asked 
credit  for  work  taken  in  Austrian  and  German  convents. 
From  the  moment  of  introduction  duty  became  a  pleasure 
to  Preston,  immediately  intrigued  by  the  slightly  theat- 
rical manner  which  his  charge  "the  young  foreigner,"  who 
was  an  attractive  girl,  and  not  a  man  as  he  had  at  first 
supposed,  unconsciously  affected  when  a  trifle  nervous  or 
on  the  defensive.  There  was  some  story  behind  the  per- 
sonality of  this  fascinating,  child-like  creature,  mother  of 
the  up-to-date  and  inquiring  youngster  who  was  brought 
to  visit  the  school  one  afternoon  in  the  company  of  an 
elderly  companion-nurse  called  "Braxton." 

It  being  Preston's  business  to  learn  what  little  Mrs. 
Renfrew  did  with  her  time,  it  was  only  natural  that  he 
should  occasionally  invite  her,  as  their  acquaintance  de- 
veloped, to  "first  nights,"  where  she  was  delighted  to  have 
him  point  out  celebrities  in  the  audience, — society  women, 
financiers,  artists,  authors,  actors,  and  playwrights  who 
had  come  to  witness  a  rival's  production. 

"There's  one  of  our  fellow  journalists,"  Preston  said, 
one  evening,  indicating  a  tall,  striking-looking  man  in 
evening  dress  who  was  one  of  a  party  entering  the  lobby 
with  them.  "Galbraith  worked  up  to  be  managing  editor 
of  the  Star  before  he  left  active  newspaper  work  for 
the  writing  game.  He  was  a  wonder,  that  boy;  even  as 
a  cub  they  say  he  had  the  most  wonderful  nose  for  news 
of  anyone  who  ever  turned  copy  in  to  the  Star  local  room, 
and  that's  saying  something  and  everything." 


240  A  Bird  of  Passage 

Olga  gazed  at  this  Galbraith  with  interest.  "It  doesn't 
show  very  much,"  she  said  at  last. 

"Doesn't  show?  What  do  you  mean?"  Preston  fum- 
bled in  his  pocket  for  the  tickets. 

"What  you  spoke  of,  his  nose  for  news,"  she  answered, 
in  all  seriousness,  eyes  growing  wide  at  Preston's  \inre- 
strained  mirth. 

"Bless  your  heart,  child,  didn't  you  ever  hear  that 
before?"  he  said  cheerfully.  "That's  only  a  way  of  say- 
ing that  he's  a  good  reporter  and  gets  news  for  his  paper 
before  it  breaks  for  the  others.  He  seems  to  scent  stories 
and  trail  them  just  the  way  a  hunting  dog  or  a  blood- 
hound has  a  *nose'  for  running  down  the  game."  Olga, 
amused,  and  only  a  trifle  abashed,  reflectively  ran  a  slen- 
der forefinger  along  the  bridge  of  her  own  little  nose. 

"I  wonder  how  it  would  feel  to  have  one,"  she  specu- 
lated, mischievously. 

"I  like  this,"  she  sighed,  at  length,  settling  in  a  cush- 
ioned chair  in  the  orchestra  circle,  having  learned  that 
the  critics  are  not  the  important-looking  people  who 
occupy  the  boxes.  "It  is  like  the  old  days  in  the  Hofburg 
Theatre  on  the  Franzenring,"  she  finished  softly,  under 
her  breath,  since  this  was  early  in  1919  when  the  glories 
of  the  Austrian  empire  were  fast  fading. 

"Why  can't  you  tell  me  the  story  of  your  life,  little 
gypsy?"  asked  Preston,  adjusting  her  wrap.  It  was  by 
just  such  remarks  as  her  last  exclamation  that  he  might 
judge  of  her  foreign  associations. 

"Ho,  I  could  not  do  that,"  she  replied,  laughing  ever 
so  slyly.    "It  is  what  they  say  here,  *a  long,  sad  story.' 


A  Bird  of  Passage  241 

I  had  rather  tell  you  about  the  boy  I  met  to-day,  who  is 
a  plumber  by  trade,  but  a  builder  of  pipe  organs  by 
desire.  He  is  a  very  sweet  boy,  and  it  is  hard  for  him 
to  work  at  fitting  clumsy  lead  pipes  when  he  wants  to 
work  with  the  more  delicate  mechanism  of  the  organ.  He 
is  coming  to  have  tea  with  me  Tuesday." 

"Tea  with  you.''  A  plumber  coming  to  tea.''"  Preston 
roared  enjoyment.  "My  dear  Mrs.  Renfrew!  You're 
deliciously  ridiculous !  Whoever  heard  of  a  plumber  com- 
ing to  tea  in  your  section  of  Park  Avenue.''  You  can't 
mean  it  seriously." 

"Well,  and  why  not.'"'  Olga  queried  whimsically,  yet 
with  a  firm  note  in  her  voice.  "Is  this  not  a  free  country.'' 
Do  you  not  boast  that  all  your  men  are  created  free  and 
equal.''  Why  should  not  a  plumber,  who  is  withal  a  gen- 
tleman, come  to  tea  with  me.''  I  tell  you  that  he  is  an 
artist  with  a  soul.  Some  day  he  will  become  famous  with 
one  of  those  pipe  organs." 

"Oh,  nonsense !  He's  putting  something  over  on  you. 
He'll  be  awkward  with  the  silverware  and  too  frightened 
to  eat  as  many  as  he  wants  of  the  little  cakes,  and  he  won't 
be  comfortable  in  your  silk  brocade  and  tapestry  chairs. 

"A  plumber  in  this  country  is  a  working  man.  His 
sort  doesn't  indulge  in  afternoon  tea  with  ladies.  Come 
on,  break  the  date  and  go  to  tea  with  me  at  the  Ritz. 
Now  Vm  the  kind  of  person  who  looks  well  in  a  drawing- 
room  or  at  a  tea  table." 

"Yes,  but  you  can  neither  erect  pipe  organs  nor  repair 
plumbing,  and  this  boy  can  do  both.  You  and  I,  with 
our  'criticism,'  are  only  tearing  down  what  someone  else 


242  A  Bird  of  Passage 

has  given  weeks  and  months  to  build  up."  The  dimming 
of  the  lights  and  the  rise  of  the  curtain  commanded 
silence. 

"I  say,  yovi*re  rather  hitting  below  the  belt,"  com- 
mented Preston  in  a  hasty  whisper. 

But  he  discovered  later  that  the  organ-builder  plumber 
had  tea  with  Olga  on  Tuesday  just  the  same. 

Olga  was  happy,  and  the  months  sped  by.  Her  work, 
her  few  friends,  her  little  son  who  was  the  sole  link  with 
the  old  life, — all  these  claimed  her  mind  and  heart. 

In  the  world  about  her  there  was  still  war  between  the 
nations.  The  war  had  dealt  harshly  with  Olga  in  Canada, 
so  that  in  this  new  environment  she  shrank  from  any 
participation  in  affairs  of  the  moment.  Her  work  had 
thrown  her  into  the  maelstrom  which  catches  one  thing 
and  bears  it  aloft  to-day,  only  to  suck  it  into  oblivion 
to-morrow.  Some  things  could  not  be  avoided,  when 
stories,  plays,  books,  and  people  alike  were  absorbed  in 
the  war,  yet  the  very  demand  of  her  profession  that  its 
followers  record  facts  and  not  their  own  opinions  saved 
her  from  the  need  of  declarations  which  she  might  not 
have  been  able  to  make  satisfactorily,  for  she  did  not 
know  toward  whom  her  sympathies  were  directed,  save 
that  great,  pathetic  country  in  the  north, — poor  Russia, 
the  pitiful,  clumsy  tool  of  a  crafty  man,  and  after  all, 
Russia  was  her  country, — not  Austria,  Germany,  Eng^ 
land,  Canada,  nor  even  this  United  States.  No  matter  if 
she  were  free  to  wander,  her  heart  held  an  affection  for 
this  oppressed  land. 


A  Bird  of  Passage  243 

As  she  thought  thus,  there  sometimes  came  a  shadow 
over  her  brooding  mind.  Had  she  the  right  to  forget  her 
earliest  ties  of  nationality  and  blood?  Was  there  not 
some  duty,  perhaps  even  to  Soscha,  the  stem,  who  had  not 
been  able  entirely  to  break  her  youthful  will?  It  was  hard 
to  think  of  those  gay  Viennese  as  starving  souls  going 
lower  and  lower  in  the  human  scale,  sloughing  civilization 
as  they  went.  Had  she,  Olga,  Baroness  von  Kranz,  the 
moral  right  to  dismiss  these  people  from  her  mind  and 
direct  her  energies  only  toward  her  own  happiness?  Yet 
after  all,  she  was  taking  a  living  and  a  measure  of  pro- 
tection from  the  United  States.  Did  not  this  imply  some 
obligation  ? 

She  walked  briskly  up  Fifth  Avenue  one  sunny  after- 
noon, leaning  back  against  a  March  wind  that  tried  un- 
civilly to  hasten  her  foot-steps.  As  she  went  on  the  old 
struggle  rose  within  her. 

All  life  was  a  compromise.  As  a  child  her  freedom  had 
been  compromised  for  the  sake  of  security,  and  now  must 
she  again  sacrifice  freedom  in  a  compromise  with  some 
vague  duty?  Every  life  was  so  indissolubly  bound  with 
other  lives,  was  there  any  such  thing  as  individuality?  In 
this  strange  land  she  had  queer  moments  of  intense  lone- 
liness, a  desire  for  protection,  for  shelter.  Was  this  com- 
patible with  her  reiterated  longing  for  an  abstract  free- 
dom? What  did  she  want?  Was  all  this  a  pose, — all  her 
prattling? 

At  Fifty-Second  Street,  Cartier's  corner,  she  left  the 
Avenue.  Her  problem  was  far  from  its  solution,  and  not 
even  a  bright  green  gown  in  Hickson's  window  could  dis- 
tract her  attention. 


244  A  Bird  of  Passage 


Early  in  April  Chaunce  Preston,  who  had  by  this  time 
fallen  completely  under  the  spell  of  her  personality,  in- 
vited Olga  to  an  exhibition  in  Knoedler's  gallery  and  as 
a  special  treat  they  took  Stanbury  along.  The  child's 
chatterings  added  their  share  to  the  happiness  of  the  ex- 
cursion, for  Preston  had  long  since  learned  to  be  fond 
of  the  lad  with  blue-gray  eyes  that  were  not  like  his 
mother's.  His  manners  were  quaint  and  delightful,  coup- 
ling their  perfection  of  form  with  a  saving  grace  of  com- 
plete ingenuousness. 

Walking  along  the  Avenue,  Stanbury  tugged  at  his 
mother's  hand.  "Across  the  street  there.  Mother,"  he 
said,  "do  you  see  that  dog.?"  Over  the  way  a  shaggy 
Airedale  on  a  leash  was  in  charge  of  a  boy  dressed  like 
Stanbury  in  dark  blue  serge  sailor  suit  with  long  trousers 
and  a  reefer  coat,  the  boy  in  his  turn  under  the  chaperon- 
age  of  a  nursemaid.  "That  dog.  Mother;  I  know  him, 
personallt/." 

"Yes,  dear?"  said  Olga,  smiling  at  Preston  over  the 
lad's  head.     "Who  is  the  little  boy.?" 

"Oh,  he's  in  the  first  class.  His  father  is  captain  of  a 
battleship.  But  I  know  his  dog  better  than  I  know  him ; 
*Byng's'  his  name,  and  he  makes  me  think  of  Punchinello. 
I  wish  we  had  Punchinello  here,  Mother."  The  boy's  tone 
was  wistful. 

"And  who's  Punchinello.?"  asked  Preston,  in  his  deep, 
cheerful  man's  voice. 

"We'd  had  him  ever  since  I  was  bom,"  announced 
Stanbury,  importantly,  "but  Mother  said  to  leave  him 


A  Bird  of  Passage  246 

when  we  came  to  live  here.  Now  we  only  have  Mother's 
little  Peke.    But  Kwang  isn't  a  man's  dog." 

Listening  to  the  two,  Olga  was  conscious  that  her  little 
son  was  being  cheated.  Why  had  Victor  been  taken  when 
this  boy  needed  him  so.'*  If  there  could  be  someone  to 
take  his  father's  place?  But  such  thought  was  disloyal, 
and  in  consequence  to  be  dismissed. 

So  they  came  to  the  gallery  and  were  soon  interested 
in  the  paintings  and  etchings  of  which  the  exhibition 
consisted.  Stanbury  became  intent  upon  the  work  of  a 
man  entrenched  behind  a  table  full  of  copper  plates,  trays 
of  acid,  brushes,  and  tools,  demonstrating  the  processes 
by  which  an  etching  is  made.  Presently  Olga  and  Preston 
strolled  across  the  room  to  study  a  lovely  bit  represent- 
ing the  North  Shore  dune  country.  Her  attention  was 
attracted  by  Stanbury,  from  whom  they  had  become 
separated  by  a  jog  in  the  gallery.  Unseen  by  the  child, 
she  watched  him  trotting  from  group  to  group  looking  for 
his  mother.  What  a  lovely  boy  he  was,  with  his  sturdy 
body  and  earnest  young  face  that  could  be  so  marvelously 
lighted  when  he  smiled  by  those  eyes  of  his  father's ! 
Pride  of  possession  and  motherhood  swelled  in  her  heart, 
so  that  Chaunce  Preston,  a  trifle  world-weary  and  sick  of 
the  suspicions  of  his  duty,  regarded  her  with  a  side  glance 
and  reading  her  thoughts,  said  to  himself,  "Gad!  She's 
like  a  delicate  instrument  for  the  play  of  her  emotions. 
I'd  give  the  world  for  half  her  fire."  Then  Stanbury  saw 
them,  and  came  on  at  a  faster  pace. 

"Oh,  Mother!"  he  called.  "I  know  how  to  make  an 
etching.  It's  the  acid  that  eats  the  lines  on  the  copper 
plate,"  but  Preston  stepped  forward  to  greet  a  middle- 


24i6  A  Bird  of  Passage 

aged  man  of  distinguished  appearance,  who  was  approach- 
ing. 

"Alan  Winslow, — of  all  people,"  cried  Preston,  grasp- 
ing the  other's  hand.  "What  are  you  doing  in  town,  you 
old  curmudgeon?  Explain  yourself ."  He  turned  to  Olga. 
*'I  don't  believe  you've  ever  met  this  scoundrel,  have  you, 
Olga?  Mrs.  Renfrew,  let  me  present  Alan  Winslow, 
Esquire,  a  provincial  from  up  the  Hudson.  I  may  whisper 
to  you  as  a  state  secret  that  he  has  designs  on  the  senate 
of  the  United  States,  having  gained  the  nomination  for 
senator  just  a  few  weeks  ago." 

Acknowledging  the  introduction,  Olga  was  aware  that 
Mr.  Winslow  did  not  relish  Preston's  facetiousness.  For 
several  moments  they  talked  of  generalities.  At  last 
Preston  said,  "Before  it  gets  too  late,  I  must  take  Stan- 
bury  to  see  the  Chinese  blue  porcelain  dog  with  red  hair. 
I  promised, — do  you  remember,  old  man?"  The  boy 
clapped  his  hands  and  pranced  a  bit  in  coltish  enthusiasm. 
"You  two  follow  us  around  to  the  corridor  where  they 
keep  the  beast.  You're  coming  to  tea  with  us  afterwards, 
you  know,  Winslow."  He  went  off  at  a  terrific  rate,  with 
Stanbury  hurrying  at  his  side. 

This  had  been  the  very  situation  for  which  Winslow 
had  been  planning  ever  since  he  had  visited  classes  at 
Columbia,  as  a  minor  incident  in  his  campaign,  and  had 
seen  this  delightful  creature.  Being  an  exceedingly  meth- 
odical man,  at  once  he  set  about  learning  her  name  and 
as  much  of  her  history  as  the  scant  knowledge  of  her 
associates  afforded.  Then,  after  some  months,  he  dis- 
covered that  this  little  Mrs.  Renfrew  was  doing  book 
reviews  and  occasional  criticisms  of  drama  and  art  for 


A  Bird  of  Passage  247 

one  of  the  afternoon  papers,  so  it  became  his  custom  to 
haunt  the  galleries  during  the  large  openings  in  the  hope 
of  seeing  her.  Now  that  he  was  actually  walking  beside 
this  woman  of  his  dreams  the  practical  side  of  Alan's 
nature  demanded  that  he  make  the  most  of  the  oppor- 
tunity. 

"You  live  here  in  New  York?"  he  angled,  innocently,  as 
though  he  knew  less  than  nothing  of  Olga's  haunts  in  the 
town. 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  looking  straight  at  this  new  ac- 
quaintance, appraising  his  high,  intellectual  forehead  and 
keen  hazel  eyes.  His  was  the  genuine  scholar's  face,  with 
something  of  a  Csesar's  determination  reflected  in  the 
slightly  aquiline  nose  and  thin-lipped  mouth  veiled  by  a 
fine  brown  mustache  and  close-cropped  beard.  His  coun- 
tenance was  powerful,  indicating  vast  reserves  of  strength ; 
and  as  his  gaze  rested  on  Olga,  it  was  tender  and  gentle. 
But  there  was  just  a  hint  of  stubborn  intolerance  in  that 
nose,  and  just  a  gleam  of  cruel  vanity  in  the  eyes;  what 
Alan  Winslow  had  was  his,  and  he  would  fight  the  very 
devil  to  prove  his  rights.  Those  who  were  of  his  family 
knew  how  hard  and  cold  a  just  and  upright  man  may 
sometimes  be,  yet  when  he  chose  to  exert  his  mental 
powers,  he  seemed  indeed  a  giant,  and  of  noble  stature. 
Olga  had  yet  to  learn  that  a  broad,  deep  mind  and  a 
smaller  soul  go  often  linked  in  the  same  body. 

They  were  accomplishing  nothing  of  value  to  Alan  as 
they  went  after  the  others  to  find  the  blue  porcelain  dog 
with  the  lied  hair,  and  he  determined  to  try  bolder 
methods. 

"We  should  evolve  some  sort  of  signaling  between  your 


248  ,  A  Bird  of  Passage 

windows  and  the  one  beside  my  table  in  the  club,"  he  said, 
at  last,  watching  for  the  effect. 

"The  club?"  Olga  echoed  in  astonishment.  "Do  you 
mean  the  Racquet?" 

"Yes.  You  live  just  across  the  street,  don't  you?" 
His  tone  was  quietly  triumphant. 

"If  I  did,  how  would  you  know?"  Olga  was  not  sure 
whether  to  rebuff  these  odd  remarks  or  to  follow  their 
lead,  but  her  intrepid  nature  got  the  better  of  her.  Alan 
smiled, — a  warm,  understanding  sort  of  smile.  He  knew 
her  thoughts  so  completely  that  she  was  torn  between 
amazement  and  a  vague  fear.  She  wanted  to  be  cross 
with  him,  but  she  scarcely  dared  risk  the  chance  of  learn- 
ing to  what  lengths  this  man  would  go.  They  were 
sparring  like  two  ridiculous  children. 

"My  dear  Mr.  Winslow,  did  I  understand  correctly 
that  you  are  by  profession  a  detective?  Your  methods 
are  most  extraordinary.  Do  you  employ  this  system  with 
everyone  you  meet?" 

"Come,  come.  You  mustn't  behave  like  an  offended 
child.  I  had  hesitated  to  tell  you  in  so  many  words  that 
I  have  been  watching  you  for  the  past  six  months  hoping 
for  such  a  moment  as  this  when  I  might  meet  you."  He 
swung  his  light  stick  with  a  flourish.  "Seriously,  Mrs. 
Renfrew,  I  wonder  if  you'd  permit  me  to  call  on  you  some 
afternoon.  I'm  not  the  man  to  mince  words,  but  I  am  one 
who  knows  what  he  wants.  Possibly  I  may  appear  to 
speak  impulsively,  though  it  doesn't  seem  impulse  to  me, 
after  these  months  of  waiting." 

Olga  drew  her  brows  together  in  a  puzzled  frown.  She 
was  glad  they  had  come  upon  Preston  and  her  little  son. 


A  Bird  of  Passage  249 

standing  before  a  great  glaring  creature  of  shiniest  blue 
porcelain,  highly  glazed,  with  little  pointed  knobs  of  red 
all  over  the  top  of  his  head.  Preston  was  telling  Stan- 
bury  the  story  of  the  dog,  which  had  guarded  a  temple 
door  centuries  ago. 

"Oh,  Mother,"  said  the  boy,  in  an  excited  voice.  "Come 
and  see  Li  Chung  Tien,  the  sacred  dog.  If  Kwang  ever 
growled,  he  would  look  just  like  this  one,  only  not  blue. 
I  wish  we  could  take  him  home.  Kwang  would  be  awfully 
surprised." 

"Yes,  dear,"  Olga  responded,  painfully  conscious  of 
Alan  and  fearful  lest  Preston  would  notice  an  unnatural 
restraint  in  her  manner.  "Chaunce,"  she  turned  to  the 
latter,  "do  you  have  to  stay  here  much  longer.?  I'm 
getting  tired.  It's  so  close  and  stuffy."  She  turned 
slightly  away  and  would  not  meet  his  eyes  as  he  answered 
her. 

"I  can  leave  any  time  you  say.  We'll  go  and  have  tea 
somewhere.  And  you  come,  too,  Winslow.  Remember 
what  I  said."  Preston  patted  his  shoulder  affectionately. 
"It's  fine  to  see  you  again." 

Alan's  hazel  eyes  lighted  in  another  slow  smile.  *'Thank 
you  quite  as  much,"  he  replied  smoothly,  "but  I  really 
can't  go.  I  didn't  tell  you  that  I  am  meeting  Nicholas 
Dougall  here  in  half  an  hour.  We're  going  on  to  a  recep- 
tion up  on  the  Drive  some  place.  It's  one  of  those  'I'm 
Lucy  Blackwell;  have  you  read  my  latest  book?'  affairs,  I 
believe.  But  Dougall  reminds  me  that  those  people  have 
a  vote,  too,  so  I  obey  him  like  a  little  dog  when  he  orders 
me  to  go  to  such  things." 

"We    have    votes,    too,"    answered    Preston.      "You 


250  A  Bird  of  Passage 

shouldn't  offend  any  of  your  future  constituency,  you 
know." 

"He's  most  polite,  isn't  he?"  Alan  directed  his  question 
to  Olga,  who  gave  the  merest  monosyllable  in  reply. 
"No!  I  must  bid  you  good-day,  and  thank  you  quite  as 
much."  Again  he  spoke  to  Olga.  "But  I  shall  give  my- 
self the  pleasure  of  coming  to  tea  wl»h  you  within  the 
week.    You'll  be  at  home,  I  am  sure?" 

Before  Preston  and  her  son  Olga  was  obliged  to  be 
composed.  "I  shall  always  be  glad  to  see  a  friend  of 
Mr.  Preston's,"  she  said,  without  meeting  Alan's  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XV 


In  spite  of  herself,  under  the  friendship  and  guidance 
of  Alan  Winslow,  life  spread  its  fascinating  panorama 
before  her  through  the  spring  and  summer  days.  Rightly 
enough  Alan  had  guessed  how  much  Olga  desired  to  be- 
come more  familiar  with  American  society  and  American 
customs, — the  deep,  inner  reaches  of  thought  in  the  native 
mind,  which  the  transient  or  casual  visitor  cannot  plumb. 
Enthusiastic  about  his  own  state,  and  after  that  immense- 
ly proud  of  the  resources  and  beauties  of  the  nation,  he 
had  determined  a  subtle  campaign  against  this  lady's 
heart,  in  which  his  country  should  help  him.  American 
life  would  be  presented  in  a  series  of  flashing  pictures, 
vignettes  as  clearly  defined  as  old  prints,  with  the  tacit 
understanding  that  all  this  manner  of  existence,  whichever 
sort  she  chose  to  accept,  would  be  hers  for  the  asking, 
upon  the  acceptance  of  his  heart  and  hand  in  marriage. 
To  his  determined  mind  there  came  no  thought  of  a  possi- 
ble comparison  between  his  motives  and  those  of  a  certain 
devil  in  scriptures  who  had  offered  the  nations  of  the 
world  spread  out  before  the  Holy  One  gazing  from  a  high 
mountain  top.  Persuaded  to  remain  in  town  for  the  sum- 
mer on  Alan's  recommendation,  Olga  visited  Saratoga, 
the  smart;  Long  Island,  the  heterogeneous;  Mauchunk, 
the  fascinating  and  terrible  for  its  fathomless  dark  lake. 

251 


252  A  Bird  of  Passage 

A  week  in  the  fashionable  seclusion  of  Watkin's  Glen ;  up 
the  Hudson  by  boat,  and  down  along  the  shore  in  Alan's 
motor  sent  to  meet  her,  flashing  back  through  little  towns 
in  the  hills,  and  seldom  losing  sight  of  the  majestic  river 
against  its  background  of  the  Catskills,  now  sharply 
defined,  now  retreating  into  their  lofty  mists.  A  day  in 
some  quaint  little  village  like  Hudson,  where  the  sleepy 
main  street  ended  abruptly  in  a  tiny  park  on  a  high  bluff 
with  the  inevitable  Revolutionary  monument  overlooking 
railroad  tracks  on  the  bank  below.  It  was  a  curious  pot- 
pourri of  association  with  all  the  elements  of  a  composite 
national  existence  which  took  on  added  glamor  as  Alan's 
magic  wand  of  possibility  revealed  them. 

Included  in  their  party  was  always  the  capable  Braxton 
for  the  joint  duties  of  chaperon  and  nurse.  Alan  dis- 
couraged additions  to  the  personnel  of  these  jaunts,  since, 
wherever  he  directed  Olga,  there  were  friends  of  his  to 
welcome  her  and  provide  companionship.  At  White  Sul- 
phur Springs  and  Saratoga,  some  of  the  smartest  women 
had  been  ready  to  meet  and  include  her  in  their  daily 
rounds  of  dressing  and  bridge  and  other  activities,  de- 
pending upon  individual  temperament.  To  such  places 
Alan  would  occasionally  come  for  the  week  end,  and 
strengthen  the  acquaintances  his  protegee  had  gathered 
unto  herself;  whilst  there  at  the  dinners,  which  were  a 
part  of  their  program,  Olga  had  sufficient  opportunity 
to  observe  Alan's  influence  and  the  respect  he  commanded. 
Deliberately,  he  sometimes  suggested  a  more  quiet  place, 
like  Yama  Farms,  and  consistently  refused  to  run  out, 
even  for  afternoon  tea.  He  was  giving  her  time  to  corre- 
late impressions  and  realize  what  a  striking  figure  she 


A  Bird  of  Passage  253 

might  cut  in  this  world  about  her  if  she  were  the  wife  of 
Alan  Win  slow.  The  whole  affair  was  planned  and  exe- 
cuted with  the  most  scrupulous  care,  so  that  no  breath  of 
scandal  might  touch  these  harmless  excursions. 

Of  course  there  were  some  comments.  A  certain  Ellen 
Ponsonby,  sitting  with  the  friend  of  her  heart,  Jess 
Lathrop,  in  the  shelter  of  the  former's  parked  landaulet, 
at  the  edge  of  a  certain  polo  field  one  cool  August  after- 
noon, was  hearing  the  latest  news  from  Jess,  just  returned 
from  a  camp  in  the  Adirondacks.  "Did  you  say  Simon 
Donnelly  was  there?  Then  that  Phillips  girl  must  have 
been  somewhere  about,  I'll  wager.  What  on  earth  is  her 
Aunt  Kate  thinking  of,  to  let  Jane  Phillips  run  all  over 
North  and  South  America  after  a  red-head  like  Simon ! 
All  he  cares  for  is  hunting  and  fishing,  which  isn't  Aunt 
Kate's  idea  at  all,  as  you  very  well  know.  Then  suddenly 
Jane  begins  a  career  of  hunting  and  fishing  of  a  different 
sort,  on  her  own.     Plain  fool,  she  is." 

"Oh,  but  Ellen,  my  dear!  Jane's  performances  were 
not  the  main  attraction.  No,  indeedy !  That  little  Mrs. 
Renfrew  and  her  small  son  were  there.  But  in  spite  of 
the  fact  that  we  were  all  expecting  him,  Alan  Winslow 
never  appeared  once.  You  remember  her,  don't  you.'' 
When  we  were  at  the  Inn  two  months  ago?  Rather  a 
pretty  thing,  with  bronzy  colored  hair  and  big  brown  eyes. 
She's  got  a  style  all  her  own,  too.  And  she  must  spend  a 
young  fortune  on  her  clothes.  If  you  could  have  seen  a 
white  knitted  dress  she  wore  one  morning!    Oh,  my  dear! 

"She  convulsed  Peter  Witherspoon  by  announcing  that 
in  the  fall,  she  was  going  to  this  White  Sulphur  everyone 
talked  about,  and  take  another  *cure.'    It  was  all  right  to 


254)  A  Bird  of  Passage 

talk  about  badens  and  spas  abroad,  but  if  you  wanted  to 
know  about  anything  here  in  America,  you  had  to  go 
through  a  course  of  sprouts  at  the  Springs.  Peter's 
always  contended,  you  know,  that  the  cures,  as  such,  were 
all  poppy-cock;  that  we  women  just  go  down  to  gossip 
with  Polly  Buckingham  from  San  Francisco,  and  the  lead- 
ing social  lights  of  Boston,  Washington,  Detroit,  Chicago, 
and  Westchester  County.  We,  having  been  there,  won't 
argue  over  its  character  as  a  social  arena." 

"But,  Jess,  about  this  Mrs.  Renfrew.'"'  interrupted 
Ellen,  stabbing  the  ferrule  of  a  black  and  white  parasol 
into  a  comer  of  the  car.  "What  is  Alan  Winslow  think- 
ing of,  if  it  isn't  marrying  the  woman.?  He's  been  running 
a  regular  Cook's  tour  of  New  York  state  and  its  environs. 
Always  for  this  woman  and  her  companion,  who  plays 
nursemaid  for  the  little  boy  when  he  goes  along.  True 
to  type,  Alan  stays  in  the  background  and  doesn't  come 
near  lest  his  precious  political  reputation  become  endan- 
gered, but  wherever  Mrs.  R.  goes,  Alan's  influence  fol- 
lows like  a  pillar  of  fire  by  day  and  a  pillar  of  cloud  by 
night." 

"Ellen,  my  dear,  never  quote  strange  autLors.  Com- 
mon sense,  darling, — say  cloud  by  day,  and  fire  by  night." 

"Nonsense !  You  and  your  logical  mind !  I  don't  care 
whether  its  brimstone  and  skyrockets.  I  want  to  know 
how  soon  Alan  Winslow  and  this  woman  are  going  to 
marry.    Has  she  any  family  connections .'"' 

"Well,  Renfrew  is  a  very  good  name  in  Canada;  and  I 
understand  that  she  came  from  Brockton.  I've  heard  her 
speak  of  an  aunt  in  England, — Lady  Somebody-or-other, 
— ^but  she  doesn't  know  many  Americans.     She's  a  sweet 


A  Bird  of  Passage  255 

little  body,  though,  and  I  think  she'd  make  Alan  Winslow 
a  good  wife.  .  .  .  Oh,  Ellen!  We  haven't  been  paying 
any  attention  to  the  playing.  Listen  to  the  applause. 
We've  missed  something,  and  I  know  such  a  little  about 
this  game  anyway."  Jess  leaned  from  the  car  and  mo- 
tioned to  a  tanned  young  man  nearby,  who  stood  lean- 
ing on  his  stick  beside  one  of  the  motors. 

"Walter,"  she  called,  "oh,  Walter  Paden!  What  was 
all  the  excitement  just  now?  We  were  gossiping  and 
missed  it.  Come  here  and  tell  me  all  about  it — there's  a 
good  boy." 


One  morning  the  telephone  in  Olga's  apartment  rang 
abruptly. 

"Yes?"  she  answered,  with  the  tiny  rising  inflection, 
characteristic  of  herself.  "Yes  ?  .  .  .  Oh,  Lady  Cornelia, 
I  am  glad  to  hear  your  voice  again.  Where  are  you  now  ? 
When  can  I  see  you?"  The  sentences  came  tumbling  out 
while  Olga  smiled  and  beamed  at  the  telephone  as  though, 
through  it,  this  old  friend  could  see  her  pleasure.  **We 
have  luncheon  in  an  hour.  Can  you  come  then  and  stay 
for  the  afternoon?    I  want  so  much  to  talk  to  you." 

Assured  that  Lady  Cornelia  would  come,  Olga  flew 
about  the  house,  changing  the  order  for  luncheon,  bidding 
Braxton  to  have  Stanbury  brought  home  from  school 
earlier  than  usual,  and  thinking  all  the  while  of  this 
woman  she  would  see  again  after  so  many  years.  Cornelia 
had  been  in  England  when  the  storm  of  Olga's  afflictions 
broke,  but  had  sent  a  short  letter  from  the  hos- 
pital where  she  was  in  charge  of  functional   re-educa- 


256  A  Bird  of  Passage 

tion  to  assure  the  young  matron,  who  had  captured  her 
fancy,  of  her  trust  and  belief.  Now,  after  many  months' 
service,  Cornelia  had  come  back  to  America  to  rest  and 
compile  a  volume  of  Joel's  memoirs  and  some  bits  of 
poetry  he  had  done.  The  world  had  known  him  as  a 
matter-of-fact  person,  and  she  desired  to  honor  his  mem- 
ory by  an  attempt  to  establish  his  name  in  the  ranks  of 
those  latter-day  Elizabethans  who  had  been  shaping 
modern  English  poetry.  Cornelia  had  heard  rumors 
of  Olga  Renfrew's  career  in  New  York  from  someone 
posted  on  the  chatter  of  the  fashionable  hotels,  and 
she  resolved  to  run  down  to  the  city  for  first-hand  infor- 
mation. 

Their  meeting  was  most  affecting  and  affectionate,  for 
neither  of  them  had  realized  their  capacity  for  mutual 
friendship  in  the  olden  busy  days  before  the  war.  Olga 
had  practically  no  women  friends  upon  whom  she  could 
depend,  for  the  simple  reason  that  members  of  her  own 
sex  were  more  likely  than  not  to  be  jealous  of  her  attrac- 
tion for  men.  But  Cornelia  had  been  different,  because 
she  possessed  a  secure  position  at  a  wise  age  that  would 
not  quarrel  with  the  nature  of  youth,  and  its  expression. 
The  day  being  raw  for  September,  a  bit  of  fire  burned 
on  the  hearth  beneath  the  mantel  of  old  Italian  marble, 
when  Lady  Pendleton  was  announced  by  Evans,  Olga's 
butler.  It  was  a  moment  of  swift,  deep  emotion,  in  which 
the  two  women  clung  to  each  other  silently,  lest  the  flood 
of  memory  break  the  composure  each  was  determined  not 
to  lose. 

"My  dear,  dear  child,"  said  Cornelia,  at  last,  holding 
Olga  off  to  look  at  her,  rather  younger  than  usual  in  a 


A  Bird  of  Passage  257 

green  dress  with  a  bodice  cut  in  shoulder  straps  over  a 
blouse  of  heavy  white  silk,  long-sleeved  and  Eton-collared 
like  a  boy's  jacket,  so  that  she  seemed  to  combine  the 
charm  of  wood-nymph  and  gallant  lad.  In  her  turn,  Olga 
saw  a  more  matronly  Cornelia,  wearing  deep  wistaria, 
second  mourning  for  Joel.  But  there  was  the  same  clear 
light  in  her  gray  eyes,  and  the  same  gentle,  humorous 
curve  to  shape  her  lips.  Her  soft  hair  was  iron-gray  now, 
yet  her  face  was  singularly  free  from  ugly  lines.  One 
knew  that  Lady  Pendleton's  thoughts  were  wholesome  and 
fine,  that  her  purposes  were  high. 

Steadily  she  seemed  to  search  the  other's  mind.  '*Little 
Olga,  little  Olga,"  she  said,  "you  have  grown  sad  and 
wise  since  I  saw  you  last.  What  was  it.'"'  And  forth- 
with they  were  plunged  into  a  long  conversation  that  had 
no  words  to  waste  for  triviality,  since  it  must  cover  time 
and  space  and  distance,  sorrow  and  joy. 

Much  later  in  the  afternoon,  when  Stanbury  had  left 
them  for  his  supper,  having  been  brought  in  to  meet  Lady 
Cornelia,  the  latter  asked  Olga  to  come  for  dinner  at  her 
hotel.  Curtains  had  been  drawn  against  the  austere  twi- 
light, one  or  two  lamps  were  glowing  and  in  sheltered 
comers,  candles  gleamed  on  great,  tall  five-branched  iron 
standards  with  a  medieval  atmosphere  about  them. 

"It  is  lovely  and  quiet  here,  Olga,  but  come  down  with 
me,  and  after  dinner  we  can  go  for  a  long  drive.  The 
change  and  the  fresh  air  will  be  good  for  us.  But  I  want 
to  have  you  with  me  wherever  we  are.  I  had  not  thought 
to  be  so  fond  of  you.     See,  I  confess  frankly." 

With  a  warm  smile,  Olga  answered  the  tender,  mis- 
chievous one  that  crinkled  the  corners  of  Cornelia's  mouth. 


258  A  Bird  of  Passage 

"It  doesn't  matter,  so  long  as  you  like  me,"  she  replied. 
"Being  with  you,  and  free  to  talk  my  heart  out  about 
Victor  and  the  old  happy  days  has  been  heavenly."  She 
hesitated  a  second  and  looked  at  Cornelia  with  vaguely 
troubled  eyes.     "If  you  will  excuse  me,  I  must  telephone 

to  Mr.  Winslow.    I  was  going  to  dinner  with  him 

No,  indeed,  it  doesn't  matter  at  all."  Olga  checked  Cor- 
nelia's protesting  exclamation.  "I'd  far,  far  rather  be 
with  you.  Alan  takes  so  much  of  my  time,"  she  smiled 
deprecatingly. 

"Wait,  dear,"  said  Cornelia,  as  Olga  went  toward  a 
telephone  extension  in  the  tiny  entrance  hall.  "Tell  him 
you  will  not  dine  with  him,  but  let  him  call  for  us  and 
take  us  to  drive.  I  should  like  to  meet  him,  and  perhaps 
it's  a  trifle  better  to  have  a  man  along  on  such  a  ride  as 
I  proposed  in  the  evening." 

While  Olga  was  arranging  affairs  over  the  'phone,  Cor- 
nelia sat  quietly,  hands  folded  in  her  lap,  calm,  thought- 
ful eyes  fixed  on  the  glowing  logs.  She  must  learn  what 
manner  of  man  he  was  who  could  woo  Olga's  eager  soul 
from  the  simple  pursuits  of  a  life  devoted  to  her  son's 
welfare.  From  the  depths  of  her  wisdom  she  had  sensed 
that  a  strange  fever  fired  the  spirit  of  this  girl,  so  often 
tried,  and  yet  so  strangely  unconquered  and  alert.  Of  aU 
the  people  who  knew  her,  Cornelia  Pendleton  had  discerned 
the  untrammeled  self  which  was  the  true  Olga,  struggling 
and  struggling  toward  an  ideal  of  spiritual  and  personal 
liberty,  and  marked  by  a  certain  aloofness  that  was  the 
reward  of  the  effort. 

When  Olga  returned,  Cornelia  asked  a  question  or  two 
about  this  Mr.  Winslow.    "He  wanted  to  take  both  of  us 


A  Bird  of  Passage  269 

to  dinner,  but  I  told  him  that  it  was  only  by  special  favor 
that  he  was  being  allowed  to  join  us  at  all,"  said  Olga. 
*'Now  I  must  change  my  things.  Had  you  rather  wait 
here,  Cornelia,  or  will  you  come  with  me?*' 

"Why  should  I  sit  out  here  by  my  lonesome  self?" 
queried  the  gently  smiling  Cornelia,  rising  to  follow  Olga 
to  the  pale  green  and  gray  boudoir  which  was  her  ultimate 
refuge.  From  a  cozy,  overstuffed  chair  cushioned  in  gray 
silk,  she  pursued  conversation  on  the  subject  of  Mr. 
Winslow,  with  one  direct  question.  "If  it  isn't  too  bold 
a  thing  to  ask,  my  dear,  do  you  consider  marrying  Mr. 
Winslow?" 

Olga  met  her  eyes  reflected  in  the  mirror  of  the  dress- 
ing table  before  which  she  sat  brushing  up  her  hair, 
lighted  by  the  big,  shaded  lamp  suspended  above.  "What 
would  you  think  of  me  if  I  did?"  parried  Olga,  turning 
directly  toward  Cornelia,  who  recognized  a  familiar  habit 
of  meeting  one  query  with  another. 

"That  is  something  I  could  not  say  without  having  met 
the  man  in  question,  though  my  first  impulse  would  be  to 
rely  upon  your  judgment.  Your  reason  would  be  a  very 
good  one,  I  am  sure.  You  know  I  have  always  been  your 
champion.  I  only  asked  the  question  as  I  did  because  a 
number  of  people  seemed  to  expect  an  announce- 
ment of  your  marriage  to  be  merely  a  matter  of  time." 
To  her  surprise,  Olga  rather  fiercely  resumed  brushing 
stray  locks  into  place. 

"Gossip!  I  hate  it,"  she  exclaimed  tensely.  "All  my 
life  it  has  followed  me.  If  people  could  be  happy  with 
their  own  business,  I  should  be  very  glad."  A  momentary 
silence,  then,  with  quick  change  of  mood,  "But  there,  I 


260  A  Bird  of  Passage 

must  not  be  cross!  Forgive  me,  Lady  Cornelia,  and  I 
will  tell  you  about  Alan."  A  smile  ingenuous  as  a  child's 
gave  a  flashing  glimpse  of  her  white  teeth. 

"You  should  know  the  quality  of  his  mind.  There  is 
nothing  upon  which  he  is  not  informed.  I  think  of  his 
mind  as  something  apart,  crystal  clear  and  beautiful. 
And  he  is  one  of  these  American  people — one  of  them — 
so  that  I  would  be  one  of  them,  too,  if  I  took  his  name." 
A  pause  in  the  conversation  whilst  Olga  rose  and  went  to 
wash  her  hands  in  the  shining  little  bathroom  beyond  the 
mirrored  door.  She  called  above  the  sound  of  faintly 
splashing  water,  "Is  it  that  you  were  afraid  I  had  for- 
gotten Victor?"  She  appeared  in  the  doorway,  drying 
her  fingers  on  a  bit  of  fine  towel. 

"I'm  an  older  woman,  dear.  Perhaps  my  ideas  are  all 
nonsense.  But  I  can't  think  of  anyone  taking  Joel's 
place  in  my  life.  Please  don't  misunderstand.  I  shouldn't 
think  of  passing  judgment,  and  I  don't  mean  to  hurt  you.'* 

Olga  slipped  into  a  simple  frock  of  black  charmeuse, 
and  stood  fastening  its  glossy  soft  folds  before  the  mirror. 
"I  don't  blame  you  for  speaking  so.  Perhaps  I  can  ex- 
plain tliat  I  have  never  felt  Victor  to  be  very  far  from 
me.  It  seems  to  me  that  he  knows  why  I  want  com- 
panionship and  friendliness,  of  which  his  death  cheated 
and  robbed  me.  Until  I  met  him  I  was  a  lonely,  de- 
pendent little  figure,  I  am  afraid.  After  he  died,  I  was 
more  lonely  than  ever,  and  moreover,  I  had  learned  to 
depend  upon  his  strong,  gentle  nature,  though  at  the 
same  time,  I  had  the  old,  old  longing  for  freedom.  When 
I  was  Victor's  wife,  I  had  perhaps  the  greatest  happiness 
I  shall  ever  know. 


A  Bird  of  Passage  261 

"All  my  life  I  had  been  bound  by  rulfes  of  convention, 
living  where  great  streams  of  highly  ordered  society 
passed  around  me,  where  every  individual  had  his  ap- 
pointed place.  I  have  known  courts  and  emperors,  and 
it  was  the  death  of  your  king,  Edward,  and  the  etiquette 
surrounding  it  which  set  me  free  from  the  convent  in  which 
my  aunt  had  placed  me  for  daring  to  go  counter  to 
prescribed  laws.  Then,  when  I  was  so  happy  in  Canada, 
the  menace  of  court  association  followed  to  mock  me  dur- 
ing the  war  and  bring  death  to  Victor.  Naturally  I  have 
wished  all  my  life  to  be  free — first  from  the  restrictions 
of  courts  and  their  false  standards  of  humanity — then 
from  an  aristocratic  society  which  held  royalty  and  its 
divine  rights  in  high  regard,  even  though  it  pretended  to 
be  democratic.  At  last,  here  in  the  United  States,  I 
thought  to  find  absolutely  the  freedom  I  had  desired.  But 
no !  In  this  great  town  I  am  a  nobody  because  I  am  not 
an  American."  Olga  looked  at  the  little  enameled  clock 
on  her  dressing  table.  "I  want  to  take  fifteen  minutes 
more  to  tell  you  about  all  this,"  she  said,  sinking  into 
the  low  chair.     "We  shan't  be  late." 

"Go  on,  dear,"  replied  Cornelia,  "I  want  you  to  finish 
your  story." 

"Well,  I  worked  here  in  the  atmosphere  of  liberty  the 
American  girl  knows,  but  there  was  something  lacking.  I 
am  in  America,  but  not  of  it.  Then  comes  this  Alan 
Winslow,  with  his  clear,  brilliant  mind.  He  is  cultured; 
he  has  traveled;  moreover,  he  is  one  of  their  native  aris- 
tocracy, since  he  has  told  me  that  a  Winslow  came  to 
this  country  on  that  Mayflower  of  which  they  are  all  so 
proud.    In  my  heart  I  thought  when  Alan  Winslow  would 


262  A  Bird  of  Passage 

have  me  become  his  wife — *Here  is  my  chance  to  become 
an  American,  for  surely  this  man  is  a  true  American  who 
will  open  to  me  the  freedom  of  his  native  country.'  I 
talk  about  this  aloud  when  I  am  alone,  and  I  believe  Vic- 
tor hears  me  and  understands.  Yes, — you  can  realize  how 
true  that  is."  A  betraying  emotion  on  Cornelia's  face 
had  given  the  sign  that  she  had  had  her  own  spiritual  com- 
munion with  Joel. 

"The  old  love  does  not  come  back,"  Olga  resumed. 
"But  there  is  admiration  for  the  power  of  a  great  mind, — 
there  is  desire  to  be  a  genuine  companion.  I  am  attrac- 
tive and  still  young.  I  would  be  an  ornament  to  his  house 
— a  light  to  his  pathway.  But  also  I  will  gain  a  com- 
panion and  a  place  in  the  life  of  this  land.  Is  that  not 
natural,  perhaps.''  I  would  not  go  slinking  back  to  the 
old  court  life  in  Europe.  Anyway  the  war  has  destroyed 
all  its  form  and  pretense.  Sometimes  I  think  it  is  justi- 
fication for  my  childish  attitude  of  instinctive  rebellion. 

"And  besides,  there  is  Stanbury.  Have  I  not  the  right 
to  choose  for  him  the  most  modem,  the  best  environment? 
Has  he  not  the  right  to  a  man's  influence  in  his  little 
life?  I  can't  think  of  making  him  one  of  these  creatures 
who  show  so  plainly  that  they  have  been  trained  only  by 
women.     Victor  would  not  like  it,  either." 

Cornelia  sat  quiet  for  a  time  after  Olga  had  finished. 
"I  am  glad  that  you  have  told  me  these  things  so  frankly. 
I  had  been  afraid  that  perhaps  you  were  trying  to  be 
happy  without  admitting  reasons  to  yourself,  but  you 
have  been  more  than  logical.  After  all,  you  are  young, 
and  youth  has  the  right  to  happiness.  Perhaps  if  I  had 
someone  like  your  little  son,  I  should  be  looking  forward, 


A  Bird  of  Passage  263 

rather  than  seeking  to  build  up  the  past  again  with  my 
letters  and  poems;  though  it  is  a  living  thing  that  I 
am  trying  to  create,  too." 

The  two  women  rose  and  stood  facing  each  other  in  the 
softly  lighted  room.  "You  see  it  is  not  right,"  said 
Olga,  "that  I  am  held  a  prisoner;  and  though  I  shall 
always  mean  to  be  careful  and  wise,  you  most  believe  in 
me — whatever  I  do." 

m 

A  fortnight  later,  Chaunce  Preston  stopped  in  for  tea 
and  noted  with  satisfaction  that  Olga  still  seemed  the 
vivacious,  glowing  creature  he  had  known  of  old, — clad 
in  a  mauve  house  gown  with  an  exotic  design  in  batik. 

"It  is  so  nice  to  see  you,"  Olga  exclaimed.  "Come  into 
the  little  library  and  tell  me  all  about  the  paper.  I  noticed 
that  Fitzgerald  has  let  them  play  up  the  book  reviews 
more  than  he  used  to.  Have  you  read  'Mary  Olivier'  yet? 
I  admire  her, — she  had  such  a  quiet  way  of  taking  things 
she  wanted;  she  was  successful,  too.  I  wish  I'd  done  the 
review  for  it ;  but  Alan  doesn't  want  me  to  do  that  sort 
of  thing  any  more."  She  smiled,  with  mild  defiance  in 
her  eyes. 

"So?"  inquired  Chaunce,  settled  in  a  big  tapestry 
chair.  "You're  going  to  be  a  regular  lady,  are  you? 
.  .  .  Well,  what's  the  odds,  so  long  as  you'll  be  happy." 

The  tea  tray  had  been  brought  in  and  Olga  murmured, 
"Of  course,"  as  she  poured  a  cupful.  "Do  you  want 
rum,  or  just  lemon  and  sugar?"  she  asked. 

"My  dear !    What  a  question !    Rum,  of  course 

Ah,  thank  you !    This  is  cozy,  if  we  old  newshounds  would 


264  A  Bird  of  Passage 

only  admit  it.  .  .  .  And  so  old  Alan  draws  the  line  at 
having  you  do  reviews?"     He  stirred  his  tea  reflectively. 

"Y'  know,  you're  a  funny  girl.  You've  always  said  you 
wanted  freedom,  and  yet  the  moment  you  get  what  ap- 
proximates it,  you  turn  'round  and  engage  yourself  to  a 
man  destined  for  practically  the  most  convention-bound 
circles  in  our  country." 

"Chaunce!  What  do  you  mean.?"  There  was  faint 
alarm  in  Olga's  manner  as  she  leaned  toward  him  from 
her  place  on  the  soft  couch. 

He  looked  at  her  soberly  and  took  out  a  thin  leather 
cigarette  case.    "Mind  if  I  smoke  ?" 

"Oh  no,  certainly  not.  Take  one  of  these,"  said  Olga, 
hastily  passing  toward  him  a  Florentine  box  of  cigarettes. 
*'I  beg  your  pardon." 

"That's  all  right.  I'll  just  smoke  one  of  my  own.  That 
Russian  tobacco  is  a  bit  strong."  He  lit  the  slender 
paper  cylinder  and  blew  a  ring  of  smoke  into  the  still  air. 
"If  you'll  permit  me,  I'm  going  to  give  you  a  bit  of  help," 
he  began. 

"You'll  have  to  make  up  your  mind  to  be  as  conven- 
tional and  more  so  than  yq,u  ever  were  in  your  foreign 
life.  Alan  Winslow's  forefather,  who  came  over  here  in 
the  MayfloweTy  as  you  may  know,  was  an  intolerant  sort 
for  all  that  he  had  been  a  victim  of  religious  persecution  in 
England.  Intolerance  is  such  an  easy  habit  to  cultivate. 
And  Alan  has  inherited  more  than  a  little  of  his  feeling. 

"Understand,  I'm  not  coming  here  to  rip  a  friend  up 
the  back,  especially  to  the  woman  about  to  become  his 
wife,  but  I  had  an  intuition  that  I  ought  to  set  you 
straight   about  a   few  things.     You  see,  the  wife  of  a 


A  Bird  of  Passage  265 

United  States  senator  would  be  obliged  to  live  in  Wash- 
ington a  great  deal  of  the  time,  and  during  the  season 
ther^,  whilst  Congress  is  in  session,  the  social  life  of  the 
place  is  very  closely  linked  with  political  affairs.  Even 
the  President  himself  is  only  human  and,  like  ourselves, 
susceptible  to  human  emotions  and  reactions.  In  conse- 
quence, it  is  no  more  than  natural  that  this  factor  of  our 
common  humanity  should  enter  largely  into  the  equation. 
Many  and  many  a  time,  as  we  newspaper  people  know,  the 
fate  of  an  individual,  of  a  bill,  or  some  other  cherished 
plan  has  been  settled  by  a  remark  at  a  dinner,  a  chance 
meeting  in  someone's  drawing-room,  or  a  brief  conference 
in  a  library  during  a  few  moments  snatched  at  a  ball 
when  the  absence  of  the  men  of  the  group  would  not  be 
noted.  The  wife  of  a  prominent  man, — and  the  senator 
from  a  state  like  New  York  is  bound  to  be  a  central  fig- 
ure,— is  in  a  position  to  make  or  mar  her  husband's 
career.  That's  the  truth,  Olga,  and  you  should  under- 
stand it." 

As  he  spoke,  she  had  fixed  her  eyes  dreamily  on  a  little 
French  print  hung  across  the  room.  He  imagined  cor- 
rectly that  she  had  been  projecting  herself  into  the  lively 
arena  of  the  capital,  when  she  replied  at  last,  "Well,  I'd 
like  to  meet  a  great  many  interesting  people.  That's 
what  I've  tried  to  tell  you.  I  shall  be  the  wife  of  a  great 
American  statesman,  and  I  shall  be  an  American,  too, 
free  to  seek  'life,  liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness,'  " 
she  finished  rather  grandiloquently. 

"Bunk,  Olga!"  Chaunce  answered.  "All  bunk!  And 
you  know  it.  You  take  the  Declaration  of  Independence 
too  seriously,  or  too  literally,  I  should  say.     We  only 


266  A  Bird  of  Passage 

enjoy  'life,  liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness'  when 
we've  made  all  the  necessary  compromises  with  conven- 
tion and  society  at  large."  He  tapped  his  cigarette  im- 
patiently against  a  tray  to  dislodge  the  ash. 

"Aren't  you  funny,"  laughed  his  hostess,  clapping  her 
hands  Uke  a  child.  "You're  getting  cross  and  cynical, 
aren't  you?  Trying  to  frighten  poor  little  me.  Well! 
Instead  you  shall  tell  me  what  it  means — ^that  expression 
'rip  a  friend  up  the  back.'  I  don't  like  it.  It's  horrible. 
Ugh !"  She  shrugged  her  shoulders  in  disgust  and  smiled 
bewitchingly. 


CHAPTER  XVI 


June  came,  and  with  it  a  campaign  for  a  final  "Victory 
Loan"  to  wipe  out  a  national  debt.  The  famous  "Four- 
Minute  Men"  were  again  called  to  speak  in  theatres,  at 
public  and  semi-public  gatherings  to  rouse  the  spirit  of 
the  people  and  gain  a  proper  response.  Since  his  posi- 
tion made  Alan  Winslow  one  of  the  selected  men,  and  his 
native  intelligence  and  acquired  eloquence  gave  him  a 
power  few  of  the  others  could  equal,  practically  every  day 
some  of  his  time  was  spent  delivering  these  brief  ad- 
dresses. 

One  evening  the  telephone  rang  whilst  Olga  was  enter- 
taining dinner  guests.  Evans  brought  the  message  that 
to  fill  an  emergency,  Mr.  Winslow  was  wanted  to  speak 
in  a  vaudeville  house  up  near  Columbus  Circle.  "A  singer 
called  'Gianola,'  or  some  such  name,  sir,  is  drawing  big 
crowds  and  they  want  a  forceful  speaker,  sir,"  announced 
Evans,  impassively. 

"Thank  you,  Evans."  Winslow  turned  to  Olga :  "Will 
you  have  them  ask  the  hour?"  and  to  the  other  guests, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thomas  Dangerfield,  a  young  couple  who 
happened  to  be  relatives  of  the  mayor,  he  apologized. 
"This  is  unfortunate,  really.  I  had  tickets  for  one  of 
the  new  roof  shows, — thought  you  might  enjoy  a  bit  of 
that  nonsense  on  a  balmy  night  like  this,  and  now  I'm 

267 


268  A  Bird  of  Passage 

afraid  1*11  have  to  send  you  on  ahead  without  me.'*  Sec- 
retly Winslow  was  glad  to  make  a  martyr  of  himself 
before  the  nephew  of  the  mayor,  who  would  be  certain 
to  repeat  the  incident.  But  Alan  had  reckoned  without 
Olga. 

"Pardon  me,  Alan,"  she  began  quickly,  before  the 
Dangerfields  could  speak.  "Why  can't  we  go  with  you 
first?  If  Evans  doesn't  find  that  it  would  be  too  late,  I 
don't  see  why  we  couldn't  go  to  both  places.  I  think  it 
would  be  quite  fun,  don't  you,  Mrs.  Dangerfield?  I've 
never  been  to  such  a  theater,  and  this  'Gianola*  sounds 
fascinating." 

Presently  Evans  came  into  the  dining  room,  gave  his 
message  to  Olga  and  withdrew  silently,  but  not  without  a 
swift,  calculating  glance  at  his  mistress  and  the  man  who 
was  to  be  the  new  master. 

Alan  was  astounded  at  the  proposal  and  protested  as 
much  as  his  stiff'ness  of  breeding  would  permit,  but  Olga 
had  been  obdurate  and  in  the  end  they  had  gone  off  in 
time  to  reach  the  theater  by  nine  forty-five.  Upon  arriv- 
ing, Alan's  temper  was  by  no  means  improved  to  find 
their  party  ushered  back  stage  and  given  a  comer  in  the 
wings.  Should  it  become  known  around  New  York  that 
dinner  parties  in  the  house  of  Alan  Winslow's  future  wife 
terminated  in  excursions  to  variety  houses,  because  this 
was  the  type  of  thing  she  considered  novel  entertainment? 
Gianola,  an  energetic  little  blonde  whose  plumpness  fore- 
told possible  fatness  in  old  age  unless  she  were  faithful  in 
diet  and  exercise,  was  in  the  middle  of  her  turn  when  Olga, 
Alan  and  the  Dangerfields  reached  their  post  of  observa- 
tion, where  the  two  women  were  given  seats  on  property 


A  Bird  of  Passage  269 

chairs  waiting  to  be  rushed  to  their  places  when  the  next 
act  but  one  "opened  in  three."  Olga  was  frankly  inter- 
ested and  a  bit  excited  over  this  turn  of  events,  especially 
when  she  realized  that  Alan  was  angry  with  her.  She 
gazed  about  with  obvious  curiosity,  noting  the  ropes  and 
the  iron  platforms  above  her  head,  the  electrician's  ou4;fit, 
and  the  great  frames  of  painted  canvas  that  towered 
stacked  against  the  walls  of  the  theatre.  There  were  men 
rushing  noiselessly  about,  shifting  scenery  and  arranging 
the  next  set.  Several  actors  stood  near,  listening  to  the 
head-liner's  songs. 

Then  Olga  saw  a  tall  young  man  but  a  few  feet  away, 
standing  so  that  he  might  watch  Gianola's  every  gesture. 
His  arms  were  folded  and  he  leaned  back  against  the  iron 
railing  of  a  stairway  as  though  he  had  been  there  for- 
ever, so  motionless  that  he  was  at  first  inconspicuous  until 
Olga  grew  accustomed  to  her  surroundings.  He  had  dark 
hair  and  a  foreign  air  that  drew  her  closer  attention,  and 
as  she  watched,  the  sight  of  him  seemed  to  awaken  some 
forgotten  memory, — that  fine,  serious  face, — where  had 
she  seen  it?  Her  eyes  strayed  to  an  old-fashioned  watch 
chain  spread  in  huge  links  across  his  vest,  with  a  locket 
for  a  pendant.  The  locket  was  of  glass,  to  show  a  little 
coil  of  something  within.  Even  as  Olga  looked,  the  young 
man  stepped  forward  to  be  nearer  Gianola  when  she  should 
finish  her  last  song,  and  in  the  mellow  glow  that  filtered 
through  from  the  footlights,  beneath  the  round  glass  of 
the  locket  appeared  a  bit  of  braided  dark  brown  hair 
shot  with  gold  threads. 

Something  clutched  at  Olga's  heart.  A  ring  of  braided 
hair!     Back  through  the  years  flashed  her  thought  to 


270  A  Bird  of  Passage 

Marya  and  that  poor  servant  Feodor,  impotent  victim  of 
her  uncle's  fury.  Doubt  and  reassurance  surged  through 
her  whirling  brain.  In  fancy  she  was  back  in  her  bed- 
room in  the  house  outside  of  Pskov  taking  "solemn  oath" 
with  a  little  peasant  girl  *'to  remember  and  help  Feodor." 
There  had  been  an  exchange  of  these  rings  of  plaited  hair, 
and  the  two  girls  had  agreed  that  if  either  ring  ever 
came  to  them  with  a  message,  they  were  to  know  that  the 
tidings  were  reliable.  Could  this  man  be  Feodor,  in  some 
way  escaped  from  prison  and  in  possession  of  Marya's 
ring?  Olga  tried  to  think  quickly,  but  e'er  she  could 
decide  upon  a  course  of  action,  the  young  man  and 
Gianola  disappeared  around  a  comer  of  the  flies  and 
Alan's  voice  sounded  indistinctly  from  the  stage.  With 
a  murmured  word  to  Mrs.  Dangerfield,  Olga  slipped  quiet- 
ly after  the  couple,  whom  she  found  not  far  away  talking 
in  low  tones  before  the  door  of  the  star  dressing  room. 
Breathlessly  she  put  a  hand  on  the  arm  of  each  of  them. 

"You  will  pardon  me,"  she  gasped,  "but  I  am  in  haste. 
I  am  here  with  Mr.  Winslow,  who  is  giving  the  Victory 
Loan  speech  to-night.  I  want  to  know  if  you  will  both 
meet  me  for  luncheon  to-morrow.  You  must  come,  for  I 
have  important  news."  She  looked  fixedly  at  the  young 
man,  whose  face  she  now  saw  to  be  lined  with  dozens  of 
fine  wrinkles.  He  and  Gianola  alike  were  watching  her 
intently.  Her  grip  on  the  man's  arm  tightened.  "Your 
name  is  Feodor.'"'  she  asked  tensely,  satisfied  at  his  almost 
imperceptible  start  of  amazement. 

"Ask  me  no  more  to-night,  but  both  of  you  come  to 
the  Purple  Bay  Tree  on  West  10th  Street, — you  can  find 
that, — at  noon  to-morrow.   I  shall  tell  you  something  of  a 


A  Bird  of  Passage  271 

little  girl  named  Marja  and  of  one  whose  name  was  once 
Olga  von  Kranz."  Muffled  patterings  of  applause  came 
faintly  to  her  ears.  "I  must  go.  Remember, — the  Purple 
Bay  Tree  at  twelve  to-morrow."  And  in  this  somewhat 
melodramatic  manner  she  hastened  back  just  in  time  to 
congratulate  Alan  on  his  speech,  of  which  she  had  not 
heard  a  single  word. 

"My  God,  'Dore,"  gasped  the  singer,  when  Olga  dis- 
appeared. "What  d'yuh  make  of  that?  Do  you  know 
that  dame?  A  swell  like  that?"  She  shook  his  arm  im- 
patiently. "What's  the  matter  of  yuh?  Come  t'  tha 
party,  boy ;  come  t'  tha  party." 

"Ah, — I — Oh,  it  is  nothing,"  said  the  young  man, 
brushing  his  hand  across  his  eyes.  "Is  it  a  dream  I  have? 
She  knows  my  name;  she  will  tell  me  of  Marya  and  the 
little  mistress?    This  is  the  great  moment  of  my  life." 

"Maybe  so,  old  kid;  maybe  so!  She's  a  beautiful 
woman,"  Gianola  looked  speculatively  at  him  beneath  half- 
closed  eyelids.  "H'mh!  You  must  of  had  a  better  past 
that  I'da  thought,  with  that  queen  mixed  up  in  it."  She 
turned  toward  the  dressing  room  and  stood  waiting, 
shoulders  shrugged,  a  hand  on  her  hip. 

"What  I  want  to  know  is  this.  Is  this  great  moment 
of  your  life  gonta  interfere  with  my  getting  any  supper 
t'night,  or  not?  Y'  know  us  in  the  pr'fession  has  gotta 
eat,  and  eat  reg'lar." 

Feodor  turned  away,  but  not  before  Gianola  had  caught 
the  look  of  commingled  sorrow  and  pain  in  his  face,  as 
one  feels  the  pangs  of  memory  and  regret  for  the  things 
which  once  were  and  for  other  things  which  once  might 
have  been, — all  in  a  far-gone  time  which  will  not  come 


272  A  Bird  of  Passage 

again.  Immediately  the  responsive  heart  of  the  singer 
of  popular  songs  was  touched  with  pity.  With  gentle 
gruffness  she  pushed  him  toward  the  iron  stairway.  "Sit 
down  on  the  steps  and  figure  it  out,  kid.  I  didn't  mean 
to  hurt  your  feelings.  I'll  just  get  a  hustle  on  myself  and 
then  we'll  go  'round  the  corner  and  hash  it  out  over  some 
spaghetti.    Don'tcha  leave  here  without  me." 

Feodor  wanted  to  dash  about  the  stage,  looking  for 
"little  Miss  Olga,"  but  reason  told  him  to  wait ;  and  pres- 
ently he  was  busy  enough  answering  the  questions  of 
Gianola,  in  private  life  Daisy  Simmons. 

"I  always  thought  you  was  a  queer  duck,  ever  sinc^ 
you  moved  in  that  third  floor  room  of  Mis'  Struthers  and 
began  trampin'  around  next  door  t'me  at  four  o'clock  in 
the  morning.  Y'  didn't  know  how  thin  them  partitions 
was,  though.  And  then  I  liked  to  hear  your  funny  lang- 
widge,  sorta  highbrow  even  if  it  does  come  out  sounding 
kinda  queer.  But  I  been  for  yuh,  right  from  the  word 
*go.' 

"I  never  asked  no  questions  before,  and  I  been  sewing 
on  buttons,  and  darning  for  you,  and  lettin'  you  follow  me 
ever  since  that  time  the  plastering  fell  oifa  the  ceiling  in 
both  our  rooms  and  we  got  talking  together  out  in  the 
hall.  'Member?  But  now,  I  want  to  hear  about  the 
mystery,  and  what  this  classy  jane  is  doin'  in  your  young 
life.  Come  on,  tell  little  Daisy  while  she  rolls  her  own 
spaghet'." 

Black  coff'ee  from  a  thick  cup  was  all  Feodor  needed  to 
start  him  on  his  jumbled  tale  of  adventure,  as  he  watched 
Gfanola's  deft  handling  of  fork  and  spoon.    As  he  spoke 


A  Bird  of  Passage  273 

he  grew  tense  with  excitement,  shaking  back  his  thick  hair 
and  leaning  forward,  elbows  on  the  table. 

"It  is  like  this,"  he  said.  "I  have  found  the  only  lady, 
and  she  was  but  a  little  girl  then,  who  was  ever  very  kind 
to  me  before  I  have  met  you,  except  Marya,  of  course. 
For  you  see  I  was  a  servant  in  Russia,  where  I  lived. 
Things  are  changed  since  the  great  war, — perhaps  poor 
Russia  is  not  yet  any  better  off  than  before, — but  who 
knows?  Fifteen  years  ago  I  had  risen  to  be  valet  for  a 
nobleman,  Michael  Serov,  whose  estate  where  I  was  bom, 
was  located  in  the  west  below  Petersburg,  that  we  call 
Petrograd  now.  You  in  your  free  America  could  never 
know  what  it  was  to  have  been  a  servant  in  those  old 
days."  In  vivid  sentences  he  sketched  for  Gianola  the 
events  which  lead  up  to  his  acquaintance  with  the  child 
Olga,  to  his  arrest  and  imprisonment. 

"For  thirteen  years  I  was  in  the  prison  at  Pskov,  with 
my  soul  growing  dull, — too  dull  even  to  be  bitter  over  my 
unjust  fate.  The  only  friend  of  my  life  was  that  girl 
Marya,  who  ran  away  to  the  city  after  our  master  had 
sold  the  estate.  Her  mother  and  mine  had  died,  and  for 
the  others  she  did  not  care.  Marya  had  used  wisely  the 
money  our  little  mistress  gave  her.  Then  Marya  had 
found  where  I  was  imprisoned  and  had  taken  work  in  a 
tailor's  shop  not  far  away.  Cleverly  she  would  walk  past 
the  jail  and  flirt  with  the  guards  and  sentries  until  at 
last  she  could  safely  count  them  as  friends.  .  .  .  What 
I  could  not  tell  you  of  that  girl !"    Feodor's  voice  broke. 

"Dontcha  know  where  she  is  now?"  asked  Gianola,  in  a 
sympathetic  whisper,  impressed  by  the  recital. 


274  A  Bird  of  Passage 

A  nod  of  the  dark  head.  "We  were  to  have  married. 
But  with  the  revolution,  she  joined  a  regiment  like  Botch- 
kareva's.  Some  damned  sniper's  bullet  found  her  one 
evening  just  at  dusk  when  the  men's  regiments  had  for- 
saken their  posts  and  left  only  the  girl-soldiers  on  guard. 
Curse  the  cowardly  hides  of  the  men."  He  looked  steadily 
at  his  companion.  "You  must  excuse  it  if  I  swear  some- 
times, I,  who  was  once  so  devout  a  son  of  the  church. 

"But  I  must  continue.  Marya  baked  little  cakes  for 
me  and  hid  money  inside  them,  that  I  might  buy  cigarettes 
and  liquor  and  be  considered  among  the  aristocracy  of 
the  cell  in  which  I  lived.  Good  God!  If  you  had  seen 
that  cell !  Ten  or  twelve  of  us  sleeping  in  bunks ;  damp- 
ness, stuffy  air  and  overheating,  vile  odors,  foul  language, 
and  vermin!  Eyah!  Even  now  in  imagination  my  flesh 
crawls  with  them."  He  shuddered,  involuntarily  closing 
his  eyes.  "Excuse  me  for  speaking  so."  Feodor  gulped 
his  coffee,  now  grown  cold. 

"There  were  politicals  and  rebels  in  the  jail  who  spoke 
hasty  words  to  me  in  the  interviewing  room.  Some  of 
them  were  smart  men,  who  knew  what  turn  affairs  would 
take,  and  one  of  them  interested  himself  particularly  in 
me.  Before  many  months  he  had  told  me  to  expect  just 
the  sort  of  revolution  which  eventually  came  to  open  our 
prison  doors.  But  alas,  even  the  wise  Smolnov  did  not 
know  how  Russia  was  even  then  being  torn  with  strife 
and  victimized  through  the  Austrian  and  German  in- 
trigues. We  had  imagined  it  would  be  even  more  wonder^ 
ful,  the  liberty  we  should  have,  than  it  had  been  for  the 
serfs  freed  by  Tsar  Alexander." 

**My  Gawd,"  Gianola  thought  to  herself  as  her  com- 


A  Bird  of  Passage  276 

panion's  discourse  continued;  "Daisy  Simmons,  you're  a 
babe  in  arms  compared  to  what  this  guy  is.  Holy  smokes ! 
An'  me  feeling  high-toned,  trying  to  do  a  sister  and 
brother  act  with  him !" 

"Then  came  the  day  when  the  wardens  and  inspectors 
ran  noisily  up  and  down  the  corridors,  shouting  'Come 
out,  little  brothers ;  come  out.  The  day  of  freedom  has 
arrived.'  Dressed  in  our  gray  convict  sacks  we  crowded 
out,  little  brothers;  come  out!  The  day  of  freedom  has 
the  reason.  The  women  were  let  out,  too ;  and  there  were 
many  reunions  among  relatives,  or  neighbors  from  the 
same  villages.  Soldiers  were  there,  crying,  *Join  with  us, 
little  brothers.  Old  Russia  is  no  more.  Tyranny  is 
abolished  forever;  take  a  rifle  here  and  fight  with  us 
behind  the  barricades.'  For  they  had  blocked  some  of 
the  narrow  streets  with  paving  stones  and  furniture  and 
iron  gate  railings,  behind  which  they  shot  at  soldiers  who 
were  still  loyal  and  at  the  followers  of  the  local  govern- 
ment then  in  power.  Nobody  really  knew  for  whom  he  was 
fighting.  But  I  had  found  Marya,  who  got  me  a  place  to 
sleep  in  the  tailor  shop,  where  I  also  worked  for  a  while, 
though  I  did  not  want  to  work  very  much.  Smolnov  found 
me  again  and  we  had  many  meetings  to  talk  about  a 
Russian  republic,  which  my  group  of  rebels  in  the  jail 
wanted  to  have  established.  It  would  not  be  soviet,  nor 
should  the  soldiers  and  workingmen  rule;  but  it  would  be 
for  all  people  as  you  have  it  here,  or  as  France  is  free. 
But  we  could  not  do  very  much.  Everyone  you  met  had 
some  scheme  for  saving  Russia ;  and  it  was  a  day's  work 
sometimes  just  to  save  your  own  skin  if  the  local  govern- 
ment changed  quickly.     We  who  wanted  a  Russian  re- 


276  A  Bird  of  Passage 

public  were  fewest  of  all,  after  Kerensky  was  deposed. 

"At  last  Smolnov  thought  of  sending  to  America  for 
help.  He  had  a  rich  merchant  who  was  our  friend  and 
would  give  us  money.  We  decided  that  our  little  group 
of  ten,  which  included  two  women,  after  Marya's  death, 
should  scatter  to  all  parts  of  Russia,  to  France,  England, 
and  America,  and  spend  a  year  or  two  learning  what  we 
could  of  the  plans  and  ideas  of  others.  At  the  end  of  that 
time  we  were  to  meet  in  some  chosen  place  and  report 
what  chance  there  seemed  of  gaining  help  in  uniting  the 
great  broad  land  of  our  fathers.  Drawing  by  lot,  I  got 
the  slip  which  said  'America';  so  here  I  am,  waiting  and 
watching.  In  a  few  months  now  it  will  be  the  day  ap- 
pointed to  return."  As  suddenly  and  abruptly  as  he  had 
begun,  Feodor  stopped  talking.  "Perhaps  I  have  told 
you  too  much,"  he  said  moodily,  at  last,  scowling  in 
puzzled  fashion  at  Gianola. 

"Lord,  man,  it's  all  'way  over  my  head,  I  guess,  even 
if  you  did  spill  too  much  dope,"  she  assured  him.  "But 
I'm  for  you  stronger  than  ever,  now  I've  heard  all  about 
your  life.  Gee !  You've  sure  had  some  excitement,  for  a 
young  fellow;  and  I  don't  see  why  your  idea  for  making 
the  Russians  all  Republicans  ain't  a  good  one.  I'm  strong 
Republican  myself,  an'  I'll  be  johnny-on-the-spot  to  vote 
us  Americans  a  Republican  president  if  us  women  get  the 
chance  to  scratch  a  ballot."  She  pursued  a  few  remain- 
ing strands  of  elusive  spaghetti  to  the  edge  of  her  plate. 

"But  what  I  want  to  know  is,  how'd  this  Baroness  know 
who  you  were?  Shouldn't  think  she  could  of  reckanized 
you  back  stage  in  the  dark,  an'  all." 

Feodor  fumbled  with  the  locket,  unfastening  it  from 


A  Bird  of  Passage  277 

the  heavy  chain  before  he  handed  it  to  Gianola.  "Do  you 
see  what  is  under  that  glass?"  he  asked. 

"Looks  like  hair  to  me,"  she  announced,  after  a  brief, 
searching  glance.  Her  pale  eyes  grew  wide  as  her  ima- 
gination sped  to  vaguely  remembered  stories  of  "atroci- 
ties." Was  this  a  relic  of  some  exquisite  revenge,  or  un- 
mentionable horror?    "Human  hair?"  she  gasped  huskily. 

"The  httle  mistress  Olga's,"  he  replied,  solemnly. 
"Marya  gave  it  to  me  before  she  left  for  the  army.  'Take 
this  ring,'  she  said,  'woven  of  Baroness  Olga's  hair.  Keep 
it  always  in  this  locket,  where  she  may  see  it  if  chance 
should  bring  you  two  to  a  meeting.  Though  she  fails  to 
recognize  you,  she  will  remember  this  ring  of  plaited  hair 
unless  her  gentle  heart  has  changed  since  she  has  grown. 
If  she  speaks  to  you  with  sympathy,  ask  for  the  ring 
plaited  of  my  hair ;  and  if  she  can  show  it  to  you,  you  may 
trust  her  as  you  would  yourself  or  me.'  The  two  girls 
had  exchanged  these  tokens  soon  after  I  was  sent  to 
prison."  He  received  the  locket  again,  and  attached  it 
to  his  chain.  "You  see  how  one  might  easily  notice  this. 
We  shall  know  to-morrow  whether  this  lady  is  really  my 
little  Baroness  and  whether  she  has  kept  the  ring  which 
matches  this  one." 

When  Feodor  had  paid  the  check  and  they  were  on  the 
way  home,  Gianola  said  with  a  great  effort  to  be  non- 
chalant, "I  don't  think  I'll  go  with  you  to-morrow."  She 
no  longer  addressed  him  breezily  and  familiarly  as 
'"Dore,"  pronounced  "Dora," — a  nick-name  formerly  self- 
explanatory  as  such.  "Your  Baroness  won't  want  a 
skirt  like  me  homing  in." 

Shaking  his  head,  he  looked  at  her  with  grave  eyes, 


278  A  Bird  of  Passage 

"No!  You  must  come.  You  have  been  my  friend.  The 
little  mistress  will  be  glad  to  know  you." 

So  Olga  found  this  oddly  matched  couple  next  day  in 
the  Purple  Bay  Tree,  Bohemian  haunt  of  deep  mauve 
dishes,  with  tables  enameled  dark  green  and  ornamented 
by  deep  purple  bay-trees  each  put  on  in  freehand  by  some 
artist-patron  of  the  place.  It  was  interesting  to  discover 
such  conceits  as  the  tree  Nina  McNair  had  done  with  a 
gay  little  motto  lettered  among  the  branches  for  the 
observant  eye  to  note,  or  perhaps  Raymond  Ingram's 
with  the  characteristic  "dinkey-birds"  perched  in  the  fol- 
iage; but  to-day  these  things  were  not  regarded  as  she 
hastened  to  sit  down  between  Feodor  and  Gianola,  who 
was  for  once  clad  in  comparatively  inconspicuous  serge, 
a  costume  reserved  for  her  rarely  occasional  visits  to  the 
"home  town"  claimed  of  necessity  because  her  mother  and 
father  still  lived  there  and  persisted  in  a  desire  to  see  her. 

Wide-eyed  Olga  heard  Feodor's  story  which  even  in 
repetition  enthralled  Gianola.  The  mate  to  Feodor's  ring 
had  been  produced  from  an  enameled  locket  Olga  wore, 
— the  same  bit  of  jewelry  forever  dear  to  her  through  its 
association  with  Victor's  wooing  in  the  old  French  garden 
at  Twickenham. 

"Poor,  brave  Feodor !"  she  exclaimed,  at  length,  frankly 
wiping  tears  from  her  eyes,  a  simple  act  of  sincerity  by 
which  she  won  Gianola's  whole-hearted  allegiance.  "If 
you  could  know  how  I  thought  of  you  and  prayed  for  you ! 
How  deep  an  impression  the  injustice  done  you  had  made 
upon  my  childish  mind!  Many  a  candle  burned  for  you 
in  the  chapel  of  the  Dominican  Sisters,  without  lessening 
the  torture  in  my  heart.    My  family  had  been  responsible 


A  Bird  of  Passage  279 

for  that  cruelty,  and  I  could  neither  prevent  nor  make 
amends  for  it.  And  now  there  is  Marya,  who  has  sacri- 
ficed her  life. 

"I  dedicated  my  life  to  a  search  for  freedom  which  has 
led  me  far  from  Russia.  But  now  that  I  have  found  you 
alive  and  well,  I  can  be  light-hearted;  I  can  help  you  to 
assist  our  great  land  struggling  there  like  a  bound  and 
enfeebled  giant.  You  must  tell  me  what  I  may  do  to  work 
for  the  Russian  republic.  You  will  model  it  after  this 
broad  republic  of  the  United  States  ?  Oh,  I  am  so  eager ! 
I  have  found  a  noble  work  for  myself.  There  is  so  much 
unkindness  and  pain  in  the  world  that  we  must  try  to 
teach  the  new  nation  an  ideal  of  strength  and  beauty 
which,  combined  with  perfect  liberty,  shall  make  Russia 
unique  among  the  nations  of  the  earth.  What  if  you  and 
I  are  only  two  weak  souls?  Caesar,  Napoleon,  and  be- 
tween them  even  the  French  Jeanne  d'Arc,  were  only  flesh 
and  blood ;  yet  with  their  inspired  purpose  what  did  they 
not  accomplish?  It  is  wonderful, — we  shall  be  the 
saviours  of  New  Russia ;  we  shall  assemble  the  rest  of  the 
faithful  and  begin  our  task.*' 

Feodor  nodded  in  solemn  acquiescence,  eyes  intent  upon 
the  adored  little  mistress  grown  to  be  this  lovely  lady  in 
brown,  who  was  even  more  fervent  and  ecstatic  than 
Smolnov  or  the  rest  had  dared  to  be.  It  was  the  same 
quick  sympathy  that  he  remembered  in  the  real  "little 
mistress"  of  long  ago,  who  had  wept  when  they  took  him 
off  down  the  stairs  to  his  imprisonment.  Made  sad  and 
wise  by  his  experiences,  he  felt  years  older  than  this 
"Mrs.  Renfrew,"  as  the  little  Baroness  said  was  now  her 
Dame;  he  could  not  know  that  if  his  soul  had  expanded 


280  A  Bird  of  Passage 

under  the  rigor  of  his  life,  just  so  had  she  acquired  a 
woman's  impulsive  heart  and  a  brave  soul,  steadied  by 
worldly  encounters.  A  momentary  terror  swept  him.  Here 
they  were  like  two  children  venturing  into  a  strange  neigh- 
borhood; what  might  they  accomplish  before  life  closed 
in  around  them.''     Olga  interrupted  his  musings. 

*'We  must  make  plans,  if  you  have  only  a  few  months 
longer  to  stay.  How  is  it  in  which  I  may  help?"  But 
she  had  to  hear  of  the  devious  ways  they  must  needs 
employ,  and  the  many  enemies  waiting  to  set  upon  them 
and  their  country. 

"If  you  could  know  the  wealth  of  the  great  land,"  said 
Feodor,  earnestly.  "Perhaps  you  were  too  little  to  real- 
ize, but  there  are  minerals  and  furs  and  forest  lands 
waiting  to  be  transformed  into  capital.  If  only  the  peo- 
ple might  operate  mines  and  organize  the  fur  trade  them- 
selves ;  but  I  am  afraid  the  British  or  American  financiers, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  men  from  other  nations,  will  come 
in  and  exploit  our  country's  resources  under  guise  of 
helping  us  establish  a  government.  Great  God,  why  does 
not  someone  arise  in  Russia  to  unite  the  people?  They 
are  so  ignorant,  and  the  nation  is  so  vast."  He  buried  his 
face  in  his  hands  and  sat  absorbed  in  thought. 

A  flash  of  inspiration  came  to  Olga.  "Is  there  no  one 
you  know  who  could  organize  a  mining  company?  Why 
can't  we  work  toward  that  during  the  rest  of  the  time 
you  are  here?  You  could  take  your  mining  engineer  back 
with  you  and  he  would  make  a  beginning.  I  would  be 
glad  to  give  all  my  income  to  finance  his  work,  and  in 
time  the  mines  would  pay  for  themselves  and  furnish  you 
money  with  which  to  operate  your  government.     I  am 


A  Bird  of  Passage  281 

going  to  marry  this  American  statesman  and  I  can  easily 
give  you  all  my  money." 

But  Feodor  was  proud.  "You  must  not  give  all  your 
money,  though  your  plan  for  the  mines  is  good.  It  would 
be  enough  to  have  you  here  in  this  country,  sympathizing 
and  helping  us.  We  could  take  some  money,  perhaps; 
but  we  do  not  mean  to  be  communists." 

Again  Olga  was  amazed  at  Feodor's  insight  and 
thought,  as  well  as  his  facile  expression.  "You  have 
made  much  of  your  time,  Feodor.  Where  did  you  get 
such  ideas?  It  must  have  been  difficiilt  to  educate  your- 
self so  well," 

"I  was  fortunate,  little  mistress.  The  men  in  my  cell 
were  educated  men,  sent  there  for  political  reasons.  I 
listened  to  their  conversations,  and  presently  joined  in, 
expressing  my  opinions.  They  were  sympathetic,  and 
when  I  told  them  how  I  had  been  a  servant,  they  respected 
my  views  more  than  ever  and  would  answer  my  questions. 
One  of  them  taught  me  a  smattering  of  French  and  some 
English,  and  I  read  all  the  books  that  were  sent  to  them." 

"Tell  me !  Was  there  any  government  set  up  during  all 
this  time  that  came  close  to  your  ideal  of  republican  Rus- 
sia.''" Olga  was  gradually  building  up  a  background  of 
the  years  that  had  passed  since  her  girlhood.  She  had 
watched  the  Russian  situation  thoughtfully  but  ineffectu- 
ally during  the  war.  Now  she  was  learning  first-hand 
what  had  happened. 

"I  think  Kerensky  could  have  saved  us,"  said  Feodor. 
"I  hope  yet  that  he  may  come  back  into  power.  But  it 
is  hard  to  say.  What  happens  now  in  Russia  brings  to 
my  mind  what  I  have  read  and  heard  of  the  French  revolu- 


282  A  Bird  of  Passage 

tion.  So  many  governments  rose  and  fell  and  there  were 
decades  of  upheaval  before  the  republic  became  an  actual- 
ity. We  must  expect  this,  I  dare  say.  But  it  is  hard, 
when  Russia  might  be  such  a  power." 

"Does  Kerensky  know  any  of  your  little  band?  Does 
he  know  your  aims  and  hopes  ?  Would  he  not  be  a  strong 
ally?"    Olga's  mind  was  busy  with  possibilities. 

"It  is  not  time  to  make  ourselves  known  to  him,"  re- 
plied Feodor.  "We  are  too  weak  at  present  to  be  of 
assistance,  and  any  hint  of  an  alliance  would  only  double 
the  enemies  for  both  of  us." 

The  time  passed  quickly,  and  in  their  excited  conversa- 
tion neither  Olga  nor  Feodor  realized  that  Gianola  had 
slipped  away.  Olga  glanced  at  her  wrist  watch.  "Feodor! 
It  is  half -past  three !  Where  do  you  suppose  Gianola  has 
gone?     She  will  think  us  very  rude." 

"Ah,  we  have  been  talking,"  he  replied,  pushing  back 
the  little  table.  "But  Gianola, — you  must  not  mind  her. 
It  has  come  time  for  her  turn  at  the  theatre  and  she  has 
gone  on.  I  must  tell  you  that  she  tried  to  have  me  excuse 
her  from  coming  this  noon.  She  had  some  foolish  notion 
that  you  wouldn't  want  her,  but  I  said  she  had  been  my 
friend  and  that  you  would  be  glad  to  see  her." 

"Indeed,  yes !  I  think  she  is  interesting.  That  is  what 
I  like  in  this  America.  All  of  us  can  meet  whomever  we 
choose  and  there  is  no  one  to  criticize.  I  wish  we  could 
make  it  so  in  the  new  Russia.  By  right  people  should 
be  free  in  that  great,  broad  land  of  magnificent  distances." 

"  'Magnificent  distances,' "  breathed  Feodor.  "Ah, 
that  is  it!    The  distances,  and  the  gulfs  which  must  be 


A  Bird  of  Passage  283 

bridged.  And  education  is  the  first  problem.  The  people 
must  be  taught  to  read  and  write,  then  to  realize  that 
each  of  them  has  a  right  to  opinions  of  his  own,  provided 
he  can  mold  his  ideas  so  that  they  will  work  for  the  great- 
est good  of  the  greatest  number.  For  the  present  there 
is  only  license  in  Russia,  not  liberty." 

Olga  rose,  adjusting  the  soft  fur  which  she  wore  over 
her  light  summer  suit.  "We  must  not  begin  another  dis- 
cussion," she  said,  smiling  ruefully.  "I  want  to  talk  with 
you, — so  very  badly, — but  there  is  no  longer  time  now. 
I  must  go  back  to  meet  my  little  son.  I  am  to  take  him 
to  the  dentist.  You  see,  I  am  not  really  free,  even  now. 
I  must  be  bound  by  my  duty  as  the  boy's  mother.  But 
you  must  meet  him ;  he  is  a  lovely  lad,  sturdy  and  straight. 
He  would  be  a  splendid  son  for  new  Russia." 

Feodor  smiled  gently.  "I  should  like  to  see  the  little 
master." 

"He  isn't  *little  master,'  any  more,"  rebuked  Olga, 
gently.  *'And  I  am  not  'little  mistress.'  Those  feudal 
days  are  over,  Feodor.  We  are  brothers  and  sisters, — 
working  for  each  other." 

"Perhaps  yes,"  Feodor's  mild  brown  eyes  were  serious. 
"But  I  cannot  so  easily  overcome  the  habit  of  years. 
The  rest  are  brothers  and  sisters,  but  you  and  he  are 
different, — little  mistress,"  he  finished,  in  soft  defiance. 

Olga  obtained  Feodor's  promise  to  come  to  luncheon 
within  two  days,  before  she  left  him.  They  rode  north- 
ward together  with  Feodor  bound  for  the  theatre  to  bring 
their  apologies  to  Gianola.  As  they  sat  on  the  top  of  the 
bus,  chatting  busily,  an  open  touring  car  passed  them  at 


284  A  Bird  of  Passage 

32nd  Street,  going  in  the  opposite  direction.  Neither 
Olga  nor  Feodor  noticed  it,  but  the  two  men  riding  there 
had  recognized  at  least  one  of  the  couple. 

Tom  Dangerfield  and  Alan  Winslow,  going  downtown 
to  a  special  conference  with  the  mayor  in  an  obscure 
office,  had  seen  Olga  Renfrew  in  earnest  conversation 
with  a  strange,  foreign-looking  young  man  on  the  top  of 
a  Fifth  Avenue  bus.  Dangerfield  met  Winslow's  eye  at 
the  moment  the  latter  was  painfully  searching  his  mind 
for  an  explanation,  and  though  he  had  intended  some  com- 
ment, the  look  on  the  older  man's  face  had  silenced  the 
words  on  his  lips.  Whistling  sharply  with  indrawn  breath, 
he  looked  considerately  away  at  the  store  fronts  and 
waited  for  his  companion  to  regain  his  composure. 

n 

For  two  days  Winslow  made  no  attempt  to  see  Olga, 
whilst  he  pondered  over  reasons  for  the  embarrassing 
incident  which  had  almost  destroyed  the  effect  of  his  meet- 
ing with  the  mayor,  not  only  because  his  own  mental  bal- 
ance had  been  disturbed,  but  because  of  the  effect  the  en- 
counter must  have  had  upon  Dangerfield.  Then  fate, 
choosing  to  send  him  to  her  on  the  second  day,  selected 
the  hour  when  Feodor  and  she  were  deep  in  a  discussion 
at  the  luncheon  table,  scattered  with  remnants  of  their 
dessert  and  a  quantity  of  cigarette  butts.  Olga  was 
puffing  furiously  at  a  cigarette,  defendu  according  to 
WinsloVs  ideas  of  proper  conduct  for  women;  but  for 
Olga  it  was  an  old,  old  habit  come  back,  along  with  the 
memories  awakened  by  Feodor's  presence.  For  a  moment, 
however,  when  Winslow  was  announced,  she  was  filled  with 


A  Bird  of  Passage  286 

consternation.  What  would  he  say  of  her  companion? 
But  with  the  same  thought,  her  spirits  rose.  She  was  to 
marry  this  man ;  his  influence  should  be  enlisted  for  Feodor 
and  for  Russia.  Through  Alan  Winslow,  what  might  she 
not  be  able  to  do? 

"This  is  our  chance,  Feodor,"  she  said.  "Come  with 
me  into  the  drawing  room  to  meet  Mr.  Winslow.  He  shall 
see  you,  and  be  convinced  of  the  need  for  help  such  as  only 
a  person  in  his  position  can  give. 

"I'm  really  awfully  excited.  I  hope  I  don't  show  it  too 
plainly,"  she  smiled  at  Feodor  as  they  rose  from  the 
table. 

But  the  smile  stiff^ened  on  her  lips  and  her  brown  eyes 
grew  wide  with  amazement  as  she  saw  Alan  Winslow  stand- 
ing in  the  doorway,  regarding  Feodor,  the  untidy  table, 
and  Olga  herself  with  cold,  unsympathetic  gaze.  Uncon- 
sciously, too,  he  sniffed  the  air,  heavy  and  sweet  with 
cigarette  smoke,  with  such  an  odd  crinkling  of  his  nose 
that  Olga  was  reminded  of  some  baby  rabbits  she  had  once 
seen  at  Pskov  in  her  childhood;  a  ludicrous  comparison 
which,  in  her  nervous  enthusiasm,  brought  involuntary 
laughter. 

She  stepped  quickly  forward  to  greet  Alan.  *'How  for- 
tunate that  you  have  come.  You  must  meet  a  friend  of 
my  childhood  in  Russia.     Mr.  Winslow,  this  is  Feodor 

.  .  .  Feodor "     She  broke  off  abruptly,  turning  to 

the  latter.  "What  is  your  surname,  Feodor?  Isn't  it 
curious  that  I've  never  even  thought  of  it  until  now?'* 

"  *Serovitch,'  Madame,"  he  replied,  bowing  gracefully, 
for  he  had  been  alert  enough  to  realize  that  he  must  im- 
press favorably  this  American  who  had  intruded  upon 


286  A  Bird  of  Passage 

them  so  suddenly.  "We  took  our  name  from  your  uncle's, 
because  I  had  been  his  servant.  I  am  interested  to  know 
Mr.  Winslow."  Feodor  bowed  again,  this  time  toward 
Alan,  still  standing  unrelentingly  in  the  doorway. 

**We  were  just  going  into  the  drawing  room,  Alan," 
resumed  Olga.  "I'll  ring  for  fresh  coffee."  She  led  the 
way  through  the  French  doors  into  the  rose  and  ivory- 
tinted  room  beyond. 

Alan  followed  reluctantly,  and  said  at  length,  "I  had 
expected  to  find  you  alone." 

"And  you  do  not,"  responded  Olga  definitely,  with  a 
shade  of  gay  insolence.  "No !  Feodor  will  not  remain 
much  longer  in  America  and  there  are  reasons  why  I  must 
see  him  frequently.  Come, — ^be  friendly  with  him.  He  is 
a  stranger  in  your  land  and  as  such  demands  considera- 
tion, at  least."  Feodor  had  wandered  to  the  far  end  of 
the  room  and  stood  with  his  back  to  them,  studying  a 
huge  fan  of  silk  and  mother-of-pearl  which  hung  encased 
near  the  windows.  A  swift  glance  at  his  imperturbable 
shoulders,  and  she  came  closer  to  Alan,  taking  his  coat 
lapels  in  her  fingers.  "You  must  be  kind  to  him.  He  has 
suffered  in  the  old  life." 

But  Alan,  though  it  was  difficult  to  resist  a  desire  to 
take  this  appealing  girl  in  his  arms  and  soothe  away  the 
little  frown  that  ruffled  her  forehead,  loosened  her  fingers 
and  said  softly,  "I  shall  remain  here  until  he  goes." 

Olga  was  furious  to  discover  that  this  time  with  Feodor 
would  necessarily  have  to  be  wasted,  particularly  when 
she  was  just  hearing  of  a  delegation  which  proposed  to 
escort   him   to   Washington   for   an   interview  with  the 


A  Bird  of  Passage  287 

President.  Alan  and  Feodor  had  nothing  in  common,  and 
the  former's  sulkiness  prevented  the  development  of  mutual 
conversational  interests ;  but  Olga  did  succeed  in  bringing 
the  subject  around  to  a  comparison  of  agricultural 
methods  and  possibilities  in  Russia  and  New  York  state, 
in  which  Alan,  his  practical  turn  of  mind  coming  to  the 
fore,  deigned  to  exchange  some  slight  information  with 
the  young  foreigner. 

At  last,  to  Olga's  relief,  Feodor  rose  in  farewell,  and 
under  pretense  of  walking  with  him  to  the  drawing-room 
door,  she  begged  him  to  telephone  in  the  morning.  "You 
mustn't  mind  Mr.  Winslow,  Feodor,"  she  assured  him. 
"He  isn't  always  like  this;  but  he  is  angry  with  me  for 
something  or  other.  I  must  spend  the  afternoon  talking 
and  cajoling  him  into  good  humor  again.  And  I  will  win 
his  support  for  you,  too.    Only  be  sure  to  telephone  me." 

Returning,  Olga  found  Alan  engaged  in  absent-minded 
contemplation  of  the  silken  fan  with  miother-of-pearl  sticks. 
"Perhaps  a  discussion  of  fans  would  have  been  better  for 
you  two,"  she  addressed  him  a  trifle  mockingly.  "I  can't 
quite  understand  what  privilege  you  think  you  have,  to 
come  to  my  house  and  drive  away  my  guests  with  your 
frigid  civility."  She  sat  down  on  the  brocade-covered 
piano  bench  and  tapped  the  floor  impatiently  with  a 
slippered  foot. 

Alan  sat  down  beside  her,  his  reserve  melted,  and  sought 
to  embrace  her.  His  cool  hazel  eyes  gleamed  with  a  mild 
passion  bom  of  what  he  momentarily  supposed  to  be 
triumph.  But  she  shrugged  his  hands  away  and  moved 
further  along  the  bench.     "You're  too  lovely  to  shar? 


288  A.  Bird  of  Passage 

with  any  man,  even  for  a  luncheon  engagement,"  he  de- 
clared, half  humorously,  as  though  he  must  jest  away 
this  estrangement. 

Silence  from  Olga,  before  she  turned  fiercely  to  him. 
"Oh,  you  don't  understand.  Why  should  I  expect  you 
to  realize?"  She  broke  off  as  impetuously  as  she  had 
begun,  thinking  of  this  man,  safe  and  smug  within  his 
own  peaceful  country,  and  that  other  from  such  a  far 
land,  torn  and  weakened,  to  be  saved  only  by  such  stead- 
fast souls  as  he.  But  Alan  failed  even  to  interpret  her 
thought. 

"Ah,  my  dear !  I  do  understand.  That  is  why  I  must 
warn  you.  Mr.  Dangerfield  and  I  saw  you,  day  before 
yesterday,  riding  north  on  top  of  a  bus  with  a  strange 
young  man.  Tom  Dangerfield  is  the  mayor's  nephew,  as 
you  well  know,  and  fortunately  for  me  he  is  a  warm  per- 
sonal friend  and  a  staunch  political  ally.  In  fact,  as  I 
have  purposely  never  told  you  before,  he  is  really  my 
campaign  manager.  Yet  supposing  he  were  not  such  a 
good  friend,  what  would  he  think,  to  see  the  affianced  wife 
of  a  United  States  senator-elect  behaving  so, — I  must  say 
it,  dear, — so  indiscreetly?  Wait,"  he  begged,  as  she  sud- 
denly stood  erect,  so  that  he  had  a  moment's  disadvantage 
before  he,  too,  stood  facing  her.  "It  is  astonishing,  in 
view  of  the  fact  that  I  come  here  two  days  later  and  find 
you  lunching  with  this  boy  as  your  guest;  I  find  you 
tete-a-tete  with  him  over  your  cigarettes.  Cigarettes, — 
after  you  know  how  it  would  hurt  me  if  certain  of  the 
voters  up-state  learned  that  my  future  wife  is  a  cigarette 
fiend." 


A  Bird  of  Passage  289 

"  *Fiend,'  bah !"  retorted  Olga.  "You,  with  your  mind, 
should  be  able  to  choose  something  more  original  to  say. 
Are  you  through  insulting  me?" 

The  afternoon  waned  amid  a  wordy  war  of  opinions 
and  criticisms  with  honors  even,  until  Olga,  sickened  at 
the  purposeless  wrangling,  gave  the  victory  into  his  hands. 
For  her  own  sake,  she  sought  return  to  a  plane  whereon 
the  old  respect  and  admiration  for  Alan  would  be  upper- 
most ;  without  that  for  foundation,  there  was  nothing  up- 
on which  to  build  her  future  life.  Then  later  (thinking 
of  Feodor's  possible  visit  to  Washington),  she  won  from 
Alan  some  hint  of  the  best  avenues  of  approach  and  had 
a  lesson  in  the  circumstance  which  surrounds  the  govern- 
ment of  a  republic,  which  is,  as  she  fully  appreciated,  a 
necessary  precaution  even  in  a  land  where  men  are  by 
constitutional  law  created  free  and  equal.  Automatically 
a  portion  of  her  brain  sorted  the  bits  of  information,  that 
she  might  retain  only  those  things  which  would  be  of  value 
to  Russia  at  some  future  time. 

At  five  o'clock,  Braxton  brought  Stanbury  in  from  a 
party,  but  when  the  boy  caught  sight  of  Alan  with  his 
mother,  he  stopped  in  the  midst  of  an  enthusiastic  recital 
of  adventure  on  the  Avenue,  where  a  cab  horse  had  sud- 
denly died  in  harness,  with  much  resultant  excitement. 
Stanbury  seemed  always  to  lose  his  juvenile  self-possession 
before  this  man,  Olga  reflected;  what  could  be  the  reason, 
unless  it  was  some  instinctive  aversion.''  She  remembered 
her  own  childish  attitudes  and  intuitions,  and  in  the 
light  of  the  afternoon's  unfortunate  experience,  decided 
that  perhaps   there  was  ground  for  her  son's  peculiar 


290  A  Bird  of  Passage 

reaction.  The  whole  combination  was  difficult  when  she 
recalled  that  for  the  boy's  sake,  as  well  as  her  own,  she 
had  welcomed  this  man  to  her  home. 

Presently,  however,  under  the  soothing  influence  of 
"cambric  tea"  and  cake,  Stanbury  resumed  his  narrative, 
which  had  terrific  accuracy  where  the  writhings  of  the 
horse  and  the  remarks  of  the  cabby  were  concerned.  In 
spite  of  themselves,  Olga  and  Alan  were  both  amused  by 
the  lad's  earnestness. 

"An  embryonic  war  correspondent,"  said  Alan,  when 
Olga  had  stopped  a  repetition  of  the  story  by  sending  her 
son  to  Braxton  on  an  errand  of  fictitious  importance. 

"Or  an  impassioned  orator,"  she  amended.  "We  women 
can't  think  of  our  sons  as  anything  less  than  great  states- 
men." Although  the  remark  was  innocent  of  direction, 
Alan's  vanity  took  it  unto  himself  in  further  soothing 
proof  of  Olga's  genuine  devotion  for  him. 

As  he  left  for  his  club,  to  don  evening  dress  before 
returning  to  take  her  to  a  concert  they  had  planned  some 
weeks  in  advance  to  attend,  he  ventured  a  parting  word 
even  at  the  risk  of  rousing  another  storm  of  indignation. 

"Don't  think  that  I'm  unreasonable,  Olga,  my  darling," 
he  said ;  "but  I  am  so  proud  of  you  that  I  must  take  every 
precaution  to  shield  you  from  your  own  impulsive  self. 
To  please  me,  do  not  see  this  Serovitch,  or  whatever  you 
call  him,  often,  and  above  all  do  not  be  seen  with  him 
in  public.  If  you  must  meet  him,  I  shall  be  glad  to  have 
both  of  you  as  my  guests  at  dinner  some  evening  when 
we  may  invite  your  friend.  Lady  Pendleton,  also.  Then 
there  will  be  no  danger  of  having  our  motives  misunder- 


A  Bird  of  Passage  291 

stood.  In  my  position,  with  the  election  so  near,  I  can- 
not be  too  careful." 

He  kissed  her  gently  in  farewell,  as  though  he  were 
already  Senator  Winslow  bestowing  a  judicious  caress  by 
request  upon  the  infantile  offspring  of  a  constituent,  an 
attention  Olga  scarcely  noted.  She  was  assuring  herself 
that  Alan  was  obsessed  with  this  idea  of  "being  careful" 
and  that  he  could  not  really  mean  that  she  shouldn't  see 
Feodor  as  often  as  their  plans  made  necessary. 

"I  shall  be  ready  at  a  quarter  after  eight,"  she  said, 
making  no  other  comment.  Alan  loathed  being  late  at 
concerts,  she  thought,  mechanically.  There  were  so  many 
little  things  like  that  that  Alan  loathed. 


CHAPTER  XVn 


Throughout  a  busy  summer,  in  which  Braxton  had 
taken  Stanbury  to  the  shore  for  two  months  whilst  Olga 
remained  in  New  York  to  watch  the  advancement  of  the 
Russian  interests,  Alan  Winslow  saw  with  gratification 
that  every  reliable  indication  pointed  toward  his  election 
in  November.  He  had  been  much  occupied,  and  in  conse- 
quence had  been  in  such  a  lofty  state  of  mind  whenever 
he  saw  Olga  that  it  never  occurred  to  him  to  ask  how 
definitely  she  was  regarding  his  expressed  wishes  in  con- 
nection with  the  young  Russian. 


Autumn  sunlight  glinted  on  the  placid  waters  of  the 
Hudson  and  tossed  bright  reflections  into  the  windows  of 
a  train  rushing  through  the  afternoon  toward  New  York. 
In  the  smoking  car,  a  group  of  men  were  idly  watching 
the  panorama  of  hill  country  slip  past  as  they  exchanged 
opinions  on  the  prospects  of  permanent  peace,  the  possi- 
bilities of  a  workable  League  of  Nations,  the  predicaments 
of  the  Volstead  amendment,  and  similar  topics.  There  was 
nothing  unusual  in  the  appearance  of  the  individuals  who 
made  up  this  coterie  of  strangers ;  they  were  like  dozens 
of  others  gathered  at  the  same  moment  in  the  smoking  cars 
of  other  trains  everywhere  from  the  Pacific  coast  east- 

292 


A  Bird  of  Passage  293 

ward.  However,  one  man  on  this  New  York-bound  train 
was  Chaunce  Preston,  returning  from  a  brief  visit  with  a 
certain  actor-manager  who  was  producing  a  new  play  in 
the  coming  season.  Clad  in  neat  gray,  from  felt  fedora 
to  broadcloth  spats,  he  sat  with  his  back  to  the  window 
reading  dramatic  notes  in  a  late  copy  of  "Vanity  Fair," 
until  the  train,  rounding  the  shoulder  of  Mount  Beacon 
and  coming  down  past  Bannerman's  Island,  slipped  be- 
tween towering  boulders  and  shut  out  the  sunlight. 
Chaunce  glanced  up  from  the  announcement  of  "The 
Jest'*  in  time  to  observe  a  shrewd-looking  man  two  chairs 
beyond  wave  his  hand  eloquently  toward  the  approaching 
shadow  of  West  Point  and  launch  into  a  fresh  tirade. 
Catching  the  name  "Winslow,"  Chaunce  leaned  imper- 
ceptibly forward. 

"Yes,  sir,  he  believes  in  sanitation  and  public  health 
preservation  more  than  he  does  in  what  that  place  stands 
for,"  said  the  shrewd-faced  one,  who  wore  a  brown  suit 
inconspicuous  in  its  appointments  as  was  Chaunce's  own. 

"Well,  the  war's  over,  isn't  it?"  challenged  a  short, 
stocky  fellow  with  the  Hebrew's  unmistakable  nose  and 
black  hair.  "What's  wrong  with  looking  after  the  peo- 
ple's health?" 

"Not  a  thing,  my  friend ;  not  a  thing,"  assured  the  first 
speaker.  "But  we  aren't  through  with  the  effects  of  the 
war,  even  if  the  armistice  is  nearly  a  year  old.  Foch  was 
another  humanitarian,  when  he  stopped  fighting  without 
killing  off  all  the  Fritzies.  An'  there's  things  we've  got 
to  kill  now,  before  the  country's  safe." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  asked  two  other  men,  simultane- 
ously, yet  without  much  enthusiasm,  as  though  they  were 


294  A  Bird  of  Passage 

bored  to  a  degree  at  which  nothing  could  annoy  them  more 
than  to  sit  quietly  with  their  own  thoughts  for  company. 

"Well, — there's  Winslow,  that  I  was  speaking  of.  He*s 
candidate  for  United  States  senator  from  New  York  state, 
isn't  he.?"  The  shrewd-faced  man  looked  at  his  auditors 
intently.  "New  York's  a  pretty  important  state,  and  the 
senator  has  got  quite  a  lot  of  influence. 

*'Well, — now  supposing  this  senator's  wife  ain't  an 
American  by  birth  and  she's  got  a  lot  of  ties  with  the  old 
country.''  D'ye  see  what  may  happen  if  the  senator-elect 
starts  out  by  making  more  speeches  about  public  health 
conditions  than  he  does  about  a  program  for  future 
armament,  say.''  New  York's  one  of  the  first  places  in 
the  country  where  the  enemy  would  strike.  Just  like  the 
Huns  bombarding  London.  The  morale  of  this  country 
would  go  to  the  dogs,  if  something  happened  in  New 
York." 

"What  do  you  mean,  'something  happened  in  New 
York'.?"  queried  the  two,  again  in  duet.  They  were  ob- 
viously a  pair  of  credulous  small-town  merchants  on  a 
buying  trip  to  the  city. 

"Oh, — like  a  bomb  explosion  in  Wall  Street,  say." 

"That'd  be  the  work  of  Italian  black-hand  fellows  or 
some  Russian  socialist,  I'd  say,"  broke  in  the  short,  stocky 
man. 

"But  what  would  that  have  to  do  with  Winslow?"  asked 
an  older  man  whose  abundant  white  hair  and  keen  blue 
eyes  made  him  a  striking  figure  in  spite  of  a  certain  pro- 
vincial air  "And  besides,  you  spoke  about  the  senator's 
wife.    He  ain't  got  no  wife,  the  papers  say." 

"Not  now,  maybe  he  hasn't;  but  he's  gonna  marry  a 


A  Bird  of  Passage  295 

mighty  good-looking  woman  just  as  soon  as  he  gets  the 
election  cinched.  You  see  if  he  isn't.  And  that  won't  be 
all  of  it."  The  leader  of  the  conversation  fished  in  his 
pocket  for  a  fat  cigar  case,  which  he  opened  and  passed 
around  the  circle.     Only  the  elderly  man  refused. 

Taking  advantage  of  the  lull,  Chaunce  moved  toward 
the  group.  "Mind  if  I  listen  in?"  he  asked  pleasantly. 
He  spread  his  hands  apologetically  before  him,  so  that 
the  two  missing  fingers  were  noticeable.  As  he  had  in- 
tended, the  shrewd-faced  man  noted  this  first  of  all. 

"Lose  those  in  the  war,  if  you'll  pardon  me  for  speaking 
of  it.'"'  he  asked,  making  room  for  Chaunce  beside  him. 

"Grenade  explosion,"  responded  the  latter.  "Wasn't 
timed  properly,  and  when  I  pulled  out  the  pin,  off  she 
went,  'Whoom,^  before  I  could  drop  her.  Knocked  me 
backward  over  a  parapet,  which  was  the  only  thing  that 
saved  me  from  getting  blown  to  pieces." 

"Hhh,  no  wonder  you'll  be  interested  in  what  we're  talk- 
ing about.  I  suppose  you're  pretty  strong  for  a  program 
of  peace-time  armament?  Or  d'you  feel  as  though  you 
never  wanted  to  see  a  gun  again?" 

"I  can't  say  I'm  fond  of  that  kind  of  fighting,  but  un- 
doubtedly there's  something  in  the  old  adage,  *In  time 
of  peace,  prepare  for  war.'  Is  that  what  you  were  talking 
about?"  Chaunce  glanced  casually,  but  keenly,  at  the 
others. 

"He  seems  to  be  against  this  man  Winslow,  who's  run- 
ning for  United  States  senator  from  New  York  state, 
because  he  doesn't  do  much  talking  about  cannon  and 
battleships,"  explained  the  Hebrew,  nodding  toward  the 
principal  speaker. 


296  A  Bird  of  Passage 

"Now,  now,  who  said  I  was  against  Winslow?"  the  lat- 
ter challenged  mildly.  "Sure's  my  name's  Willis,  I  only 
meant  to  point  out  a  few  things  that  maybe  the  voters 
of  this  state  wouldn't  notice  until  after  it  was  too  late. 
One  of  'em  is  Winslow's  own  attitude,  and  the  other  is 
this  woman  he's  engaged  to  marry.  I  know  for  a  positive 
fact  that  she  got  out  of  Canada  during  the  war  because 
she  was  mixed  up  in  some  kind  of  a  plot  that  ended  in  a 
big  explosion  in  one  of  the  munitions  factories  over  there. 
Now  she  comes  here,  and  not  satisfied  to  let  well  enough 
alone,  she's  going  around  with  a  lot  of  half-baked  Rus- 
sians that  say  they're  working  for  a  Russian  republic,  but 
you  can't  never  tell  in  times  like  this.  Why,  even  if  they 
aren't  German  sympathizers,  they  may  be  bolshevikis,  or 
radical  socialists,  or  fellows  working  for  a  soviet  in  the 
United  States  like  Lenine  and  Trotzky  are  putting  over 
in  the  old  country.  Or  maybe  they're  gonna  stir  up  labor 
troubles  in  this  country  worse  than  what  they  are  now. 
You  know  you  can't  tell.  And  I  ask  you,  is  it  right  for 
a  United  States  senator  to  be  hitched  up  with  white  trash 
like  this  woman's  crowd? 

"Sho,  now,  I'm  not  agamst  Winslow,  but  I  think  the 
people  ought  to  know  what's  going  on  before  they  elect 
him." 

The  duo  of  merchants  sat  up.  Here  was  real  peril; 
who  could  tell  when  the  deadly  soviet  might  not  walk 
right  into  their  little  up-river  villages  and  ruin  trade? 
"Well,  say,  now,"  began  one  of  them.  "How  do  you  find 
out  all  this  about  the  Russians  and  that  woman  being 
mixed  up  in  a  big  spy  plot?    I  want  to  know." 

"Well,  stranger,  I'm  in  and  out  of  the  big  town  quite 


A  Bird  of  Passage  297 

a  little  bit,  and  I  hear  things.  You  know,  a  fellow  that's 
in  the  public  eye  like  Winslow  is  has  got  to  be  careful. 
There's  always  somebody  to  find  out  things  that  you 
thought  was  buried  'way  down  deep  where  they'd  never 
be  dug  up." 

w  As  he  spoke,  Chaunce's  impulse  had  been  to  demand  an 
apology  from  this  man  Willis ;  his  belief  in  Olga  was  so 
firmly  grounded.  Then  he  remembered  the  manner  in 
which  he  had  first  met  the  little  Mrs.  Renfrew,  the  strange 
foreign  student  of  journalism,  whom  it  had  been  his  duty 
to  "shadow"  in  mild  fashion.  Could  it  be  possible  that 
after  all  this  woman  had  deliberately  blinded  his  eyes,  had 
cast  a  spell  of  feminine  charm  over  him,  that  she  might 
be  free  to  continue  her  schemings.  But  no, — a  memory  of 
Olga's  brown  eyes,  with  their  direct,  level  gaze,  and  his 
very  soul  revolted  against  his  judgment.  Chaunce  looked 
around  the  group,  now  stirred  to  some  earnest  discussion 
which  turned  at  last  to  an  attempt  to  define  the  principles 
of  soviet  government,  and  of  the  socialist  labor  party. 
Only  the  white-haired  man  in  his  carefully  brushed  blue 
suit  took  no  part  in  the  conversation,  but  sat  staring 
through  the  window  at  the  darkening  countryside.  Pres- 
ently an  early  call  for  dinner  sent  "Willis"  into  the  diner, 
where  the  two  merchants  followed  him  like  iron  filings 
after  a  magnet. 

At  the  Grand  Central,  Chaunce  went  up  the  stairs  at 
once  to  a  telephone  booth.  Calling  the  Belmore,  he  had 
the  extreme  satisfaction  of  finding  Mrs.  Joel  Pendleton, 
not  only  registered  at  the  hotel,  but  in  her  room. 
He  had  met  Cornelia  some  months  earlier,  and  first  be- 
cause   of    their    mutual    fondness    for    Olga,    had    felt 


298  'A  Bird  of  Passage 

an  alliance  to  exist  between  them.  Later  he  was  of  definite 
help  to  her  when  Joel's  memoirs  and  poems  were  ready  for 
the  press,  and  as  he  had  correctly  supposed,  it  was  work 
in  connection  with  the  book  which  had  brought  her  to  New 
York  at  this  time.  "It's  Preston  talking,  Lady  Cornelia," 
he  told  her.  "I'm  across  the  street  at  the  Grand  Central. 
Just  got  in,  but  I  want  to  see  you  at  once,  if  it's  possible. 
May  I  come  over  right  away.''  It's  something  about  Olga 
Renfrew." 

Cornelia,  being  alone,  had  dined  early,  and  though  it 
was  only  half  past  seven  o'clock  she  received  Chaunce  in 
the  sitting  room  of  her  suite  in  the  hotel. 

**I  am  almost  constrained  to  say,  'To  what  do  I  owe 
the  pleasure  of  this  visit?*  **  was  her  greeting,  in  the  bright 
tone  with  which  she  shielded  her  emotions.  Chaunce 
thought  involuntarily  what  a  splendid  elder  sister  she 
would  have  been,  a  fine  example  always  of  gay  bravery  to 
meet  whatever  odds  life  should  ofi'er;  it  was  a  tribute  to 
the  best  of  that  cherished  characteristic,  "sporting." 

He  snuled  abstractedly,  and  Cornelia  was  aware  that  his 
errand  was  no  trifling  one.  In  consequence  her  amazement 
increased  as  Preston's  story  enfolded,  until  her  troubled 
gray  eyes  mirrored  his  own  distress. 

"Events  occur  to  remind  me  continually  how  xmfortun- 
ate  it  was  that  I  should  have  been  out  of  Canada  when 
Mr.  Renfrew  died,  at  the  time  of  that  explosion  in  the 
Cliffden  munitions  factory.  That's  where  this  spy  rumor 
started,  because  Olga  had  known  the  man  who  was  ar- 
rested for  his  work  in  directing  the  plans  that  culminated 
in  the  explosion,  which  came  a  fortnight  or  so  too  ^on 


A  Bird  of  Passage  299 

and  through  some  error  in  their  own  calculations  frus- 
trated their  scheme.  But  it  was  a  story  in  one  of  the 
papers,  written  by  some  overly  zealous  lad,  that  really 
caused  her  husband's  death.  It  will  break  01ga*s  heart  if 
she  learns  that  someone  has  been  reviving  the  story." 

"But  what  about  this  young  Russian?"  interjected 
Preston.  "I  hate  even  to  think  of  such  a  thing,  only  you 
know  wiser  people  than  ourselves  have  been  duped  into 
championing  some  beautiful  plotter  who  played  on  the 
sympathies  of  those  she  had  made  her  friends.  My  in- 
stinct tells  me  that  isn't  true  in  Olga's  case,  but  reason 
always  mocks  me.     What  do  you  know  of  him.'"* 

"Merely  what  Olga  has  told  me, — that  he  had  been  valet 
to  her  uncle  in  her  childhood.  Of  course  she  may  be  a 
tool  in  this  boy's  hands,  but  she  is  so  firmly  convinced  of 
his  honesty  that  she  will  brook  no  interference  with  her 
desire  to  aid  Russia.  After  all,  it's  a  perfectly  natural 
feeling.  We  do  not  know  the  associations  which  may  bind 
her  to  her  mother's  country.  Poor  girl,  she  has  lived  so 
long  without  a  mother's  love  that  as  she  grows  older  and 
her  son  leaves  his  babyhood,  why  should  she  not  think  to 
do  a  service  in  her  mother's  memory,  perhaps.'*  Who  of 
us  may  judge.'"' 

Preston  acknowledged  her  opinion  quietly,  thinking,  as 
he  spoke,  of  Lady  Pendleton's  devotion  to  her  memories. 
In  such  revelations,  one  realized  the  nobility  of  woman- 
hood. 

"But  what  shall  we  do?"  He  resumed  the  conversation 
after  a  moment.     "Olga  must  be  put  on  her  guard." 


300  A  Bird  of  Passage 


m 


Slightly  bewildered  by  the  unaccustomed  intricacies  of 
the  Grand  Central  station,  Chaunce  Preston's  elderly  com- 
panion of  the  smoking  car  had  taken  longer  to  make  his 
way  to  a  telephone,  where  he  fumbled  with  glasses  and 
telephone  directory,  thumbing  the  pages  under  "W"  until 
he  located  an  office  number.  "Murray  Hill  7065,"  an- 
swered that  "Mr.  Winslow  could  be  reached  by  calling  42 
Murray  Hill.'*  Another  nickel  went  into  the  shining  ap- 
paratus and  "Murray  HiU  42"  in  a  polite  voice  offered  to 
take  any  message  for  Mr.  Winslow. 

"I  want  to  speak  to  him  myself,"  quavered  the  old  man, 
excitedly.  *'You  tell  him,  young  fellow,  or  whoever  you 
are,  that  Robert  Pearce  from  Kinderhook  wants  to  give 
him  a  pretty  important  message.  And  I  won't  give  it  to 
anybody  but  him,  either,"  he  flared;  "you  understand?" 
He  scowled  at  the  receiver  until  the  cool,  impersonal  voice 
again  reached  his  ears.  "What's  that?  Well, — ^I  don't 
care  if  his  campaign  manager  is  there.  All  the  more  rea- 
son why  I  should  see  Mr.  Winslow.  You  tell  him  I  be  a 
lot  older  than  he  is,  and  that  this  time  I  know  what  Pm 
a-talking  about."  In  his  anxiety  Pearce  lapsed  into  col- 
loquialism. 

A  little  later  at  "Murray  Hill  42,"  which  was  an  office 
high  up  in  a  tall  building  off  the  Avenue,  Alan  Winslow 
was  explaining  his  willingness  to  receive  "Robert  Pearce 
of  Kinderhook"  in  the  midst  of  an  important  conference 
with  Tom  Dangerfield  and  three  other  men  in  charge  of 
various  angles  of  his  campaign. 

"I  know  he'll  probably  be  garrulous,"  soothed  Alan,  an 


A  Bird  of  Passage  801 

effective  figure  in  conventional  evening  dress  which  con- 
trasted definitely  with  his  publicity  man's  worn  gray  Nor- 
folk and  the  business  suits  of  the  others.  Alan  sat  some- 
what precisely  before  a  flat-topped  desk  covered  with 
papers,  which  Dangerfield,  at  his  elbow,  had  been  reading 
aloud.  Two  of  the  others  occupied  chairs  drawn  up  at 
the  opposite  side  of  the  desk,  but  Miller,  the  publicity 
man,  sat  smoking  a  pipe  on  the  window  ledge,  with  his  feet 
drawn  up  to  rest  on  the  sill.  "But  this  Pearce,  of  Kinder- 
hook,  is  an  old  friend  of  my  father's  and  he  must  have 
some  idea  that  I'll  be  interested  in  what  he  has  to  say. 
We'll  try  and  make  him  see  that  we're  busy."  He  leaned 
back  in  his  chair  and  stroked  his  finely  pointed  beard  with 
a  graceful  gesture  almost  feline  in  its  smoothness. 

"You  were  telling  us.  Miller,  about  that  printing  appro- 
priation." And  the  discussion  was  resumed  until  the  hum 
of  a  buzzer  indicated  Pearce's  arrival. 

In  the  transition  from  the  dusky  hallway  to  the  brill- 
iantly lit  room,  Mr.  Robert  Pearce's  blue  eyes  were  slow 
to  focus  upon  the  object  of  their  search  and  the  men  had 
time  to  observe  with  pleasurable  surprise  the  old  gentle- 
man whose  quiet  dignity  had  again  been  restored  after 
his  telephonic  encounter.     Alan  rose  to  shake  hands. 

"It's  been  some  time  since  I  saw  you  last,  Mr.  Pearce," 
was  his  cordial  welcome.  "How  are  things  up  Kinderhook 
way.?" 

"Very  well,  thank  you ;  very  well,"  Pearce  replied,  with- 
out    appearing     much     concerned     over     the     question. 

"May  I  speak  to  you  privately,  Alan?"  he  asked.  "I 
have  just  heard  something  that  may  be  of  importance 
to  you  in  your  campaign." 


302  A  Bird  of  Passage 

"Well,  well,  you've  come  to  the  right  place,  then.  These 
gentlemen  are  assisting  me  in  the  pre-election  activities." 
Alan  paused  to  give  Pearce  the  chance  to  speak,  but  the 
latter  remained  silent,  looking  carefully  at  each  of  the 
group  in  turn. 

"I'm  not  so  sure,"  he  protested,  but  Alan  interrupted 
him  quickly. 

**Come,  come,  Mr.  Pearce,  you  needn't  fear  to  tell  me 
in  front  of  these  gentlemen  whatever  it  is  you've  heard. 
They  would  have  to  know  it  sooner  or  later."  Pearce 
looked  searchingly  at  Alan.  "You  know  I  haven't  a 
prison  record,  or  anything  of  the  sort ;  and  I'm  not  par- 
ticularly afraid  of  hearing  dire  revelations."  Tom  Dan- 
gerfield  and  one  of  the  others  laughed  shortly.  "Sit  down 
here,  Mr.  Pearce,  and  let's  have  your  story.  We  have  a 
great  deal  to  do  yet  to-night,  and  there  isn't  a  second  to 
waste."  Pearce  sat  down,  and  Alan  again  took  his  place 
at  the  desk. 

"I  came  down  on  the  "train  'this  afternoon,"  the  former 
began,  "in  the  smoking  car;  and  I  got  in  with  some  men 
who  were  talking  things  over  the  way  they  always  do.  I 
wasn't  especially  interested  until  one  of  them,  who  seemed 
to  be  leading  the  conversation,  mentioned  your  name. 
Knowing  your  father  and  Uncle  David  and  all,  I  was 
anxious  to  hear  what  a  stranger  like  that  would  say  about 
you."     Miller's  feet  stirred  shghtly  on  the  window  sill. 

*'He  began  by  objecting  to  all  these  speeches  you're 
making  about  public  health,  and  wanted  to  know  why  you 
didn't  talk  more  about  arming  the  nation.  A  little  Jew 
spoke  up  and  said  the  war  was  over  and  wasn't  it  impor- 
tant to  preserve  the  health  of  the  people;  but  this  fellow 


A  Bird  of  Passage  808 

said,  *No,*  that  the  war  wasn't  over  yet,  leastaways  it 
might  begin  again  if  we  weren't  careful  and  there'd  be 
bombings  in  Wall  Street  or  some  other  disaster  in  New 
York  to  destroy  the  morale  of  the  coimtry.  Then  this 
Willis,  he  called  himself,  said,  *And  supposing  a  United 
States  senator's  wife  isn't  an  American  by  birth  and  has 
sympathies  with  the  old  country?  What's  going  to  hap- 
pen then  ?'  So  I,  knowing  that  you  aren't  married,  speaks 
up,  'But  Mr.  Winslow  hasn't  any  wife,  the  papers  say. 
What's  all  tliis  got  to  do  with  him?'  I  put  that  in  about 
the  papers  just  to  keep  him  from  thinking  I  was  a  friend 
of  yours." 

With  his  last  few  sentences,  Pearce  had  gained  the  un- 
divided attention  of  the  company,  whose  members  scrupu- 
lously avoided  meeting  the  eye  of  Winslow,  sitting  motion- 
less and  erect,  his  unwavering  gaze  fixed  on  the  litter  of 
papers  before  him.  Alan  knew  that  Dangerfield,  at  least, 
was  thinking  of  Olga  as  they  had  seen  her  riding  north- 
ward on  the  bus  with  this  Feodor.  What  more  might 
follow? 

"Willis  went  on  to  say  that  you  were  going  to  marry 
the  lady  as  soon  as  you  had  the  election  cinched.  Then 
a  young  fellow  joined  us  and  when  Willis  saw  that  he  had 
two  fingers  off  one  hand  he  asked  him  if  he  had  been  in 
the  war,  and  the  feUow  said,  *Yes.'  So  they  began  all 
over  again  and  the  Jew  said  Willis  was  against  you,  but 
he  said,  *No,'  that  he  wasn't,  only  he  thought  the  voters 
ought  to  know  a  thing  or  two  before  it  was  too  late." 

"My  God,"  thought  Winslow.  "The  'young  fellow' 
may  have  been  Chaunce  Preston.  If  this  should  get  in 
the  opposition  papers !" 


304»  A  Bird  of  Passage 

"Well,  Willis  kept  on  talking  about  how  this  woman — 
excuse  me,  Alan,  but  that's  what  he  kept  calling  her — 
this  woman  had  had  something  to  do  with  a  spy  plot 
across  the  border  during  the  war,  and  that  she'd  had  to 
leave  the  country.  And  now,  instead  of  keeping  quiet, 
she  was  going  around  with  a  Russian  crowd  that  might 
be  bolsheviki,  or  radicals,  or  people  working  to  set  up  a 
soviet  in  this  country  and  overthrow  the  government. 

"I  wanted  to  punch  him  for  talking  like  that,  but  I 
thought  maybe  it  would  be  better  to  let  you  know  first. 
Maybe  you  could  find  out  why  he  was  going  on  so." 

Alan  had  turned  deathly  pale,  and  in  the  silence  that 
followed  Pearce's  last  words  he  struggled  harder  than  he 
ever  had  in  his  life  for  self-control.  Fear  and  rage  and 
chagrin  and  disappointment  assailed  him,  wave  on  wave, 
in  a  tempest  of  passion.  Almost  he  could  have  choked 
Olga  with  his  bare  hands.  If  she  had  been  within  reach. 
At  last  with  a  mighty  effort,  he  rose. 

'*Mr.  Pearce,"  he  brought  the  name  out  with  a  queer 
choking  sound.  "Mr.  Pearce,"  he  forced  himself  to  repeat 
it  more  steadily.  "You  have  done  me  a  great  service,  and 
some  day  I  may  be  able  adequately  to  thank  you."  So 
great  is  the  force  of  habit  that  even  in  a  crisis  he  spoke 
precisely.  "Where  are  you  staying  in  town?  I  should 
like  to  know  where  I  may  get  into  communication  with 
you." 

**I  shall  be  with  my  son,  Henry,  out  in  the  Bronx.  His 
number  will  be  easy  to  find,  since  he  happens  to  be  the 
only  Henry  Pearce,  P-e-a-r-c-e,  out  in  that  neighbor- 
hood." The  old  man  also  rose.  "That  reminds  me,  I  was 
supposed  to  telephone  Henry  as  soon  as  I  got  in,  but  I 


A  Bird  of  Passage/  806 

was  so  excited  over  that  Willis's  goings-on  that  I  called 
jou  first." 

"If  you  were  going  to  his  home,  let  my  chauffeur  drive 
you  there,"  begged  Alan.  "It  would  only  be  a  sUght  re- 
turn for  the  favor  you  have  done  me,  and  the  car  is 
standing  ready  downstairs.  Trowbridge,"  Alan  .turned 
to  one  of  the  men  who  had  risen  opposite  the  desk,  "will 
you  take  Mr.  Pearce  downstairs  and  give  Henderson  my 
order  to  take  him  to  his  son's  house.?** 

"Now  that's  mighty  kind  of  you,  Alan,"  exposulated 
Pearce.  "Just  as  thoughtful  as  your  father  used  to  be. 
And  you're  getting  to  look  more  like  your  Uncle  David 
every  day.  Pity  he  couldn't  have  lived  to  see  you  become 
a  great  man;  because,  as  I  keep  a-telling  the  folks  in 
Kinderhook,  you're  going  to  get  this  election  by  a  big 
majority.     We're  all  going  to  vote  for  you." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,  Mr.  Pearce.  It  is  very 
assuring.  Please  give  my  best  wishes  to  all  the  folks 
in  Kinderhook  when  you  get  back."  Pearce  and  Trow- 
bridge were  at  the  door  when  Alan  quietly  expressed  what 
might  have  been  taken  for  a  casual  after-thought.  "By 
the  way,  Mr.  Pearce,  you  aren't  going  to  mention  this 
little  conversation,  nor  what  Willis  said,  to  anyone  else?" 
He  smiled  apologetically,  at  an  apparently  foohsh  ques' 
tion. 

"Oh,  no,  sir.  No,  siree,  sir."  responded  his  elderly 
friend.  "Not  a  word.  But  after  the  election  I'd  like  to 
hunt  up  that  fellow  Willis  and  break  his  jaw.  He  ain't 
even  got  the  right  instrument  that  fellow  in  the  Bible  had 
for  slaying  all  the  Philistines."  And  Mr.  Pearce  went 
out,  chuckling  in  sohtary  mirth  at  his  little  joke,  much 


306  A  Bird  of  Passage 

pleased  with  his  reception  and  the  success  of  his  errand. 
"I  may  be  old,  but  I've  got  some  sense  left,"  he  mur- 
mured to  himself,  in  the  luxurious  maroon  town-car.  "I'll 
make  the  folks  sit  up  and  take  notice  when  I  tell  'em  I  was 
riding  in  Alan  Winslow's  swell  automobile.  Clear  to  the 
Bronx,  too ;  and  I'll  have  Henry's  folks  to  prove  it." 

But  Robert  Pearce  had  no  faint  idea  of  the  consterna- 
tion and  disillusion  he  had  left  behind  him.  At  first  the 
men  waited  for  Alan  to  speak  again,  and  finally  Tom 
Dangerfield,  to  break  the  spell,  addressed  the  rest. 

"If  that  doesn't  sound  like  Blankenburgh's  tactics,"  he 
announced.  Blankenburgh  had  been  campaign  manager 
for  the  defeated  senatorial  candidate.  "Far  be  it  from 
me  to  hand  myself  any  bouquets,  but  we  never  would  get 
down  to  that." 

**He  picked  a  good  place  for  his  *plant' — the  smok- 
ing car  of  that  New  York  train,"  commented  Fred  In- 
galls,  the  fifth  man  of  the  party  council. 

Miller's  feet  came  down  hard  on  the  floor,  and  he  leaned 
against  the  window  sill  bracing  himself  with  a  hand  on 
either  side  of  his  spare  frame. 

"And  at  least  we've  got  to  keep  it  from  the  papers," 
he  observed.    "They  could  do  a  lot  of  mischief." 

For  the  first  time  since  Pearce  had  gone,  Alan  looked 
directly  at  one  of  the  men,  as  he  fixed  his  glance  on  Miller. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "And  that  young  fellow  Pearce  spoke 
of  is  Chaunce  Preston.  You  know  him,  Millr.  Preston, 
of  the  Gazette?  The  only  possible  thing  that  will  save 
us  from  him  is  the  fact  that  he  is  a  personal  friend  of 
mine  and  of  the  lady  in  question."  In  spite  of  himself, 
Alan  winced  at  the  reference  to  Olga. 


A  Bird  of  Passage  807 

Miller  looked  up  from  beneath  a  pair  of  bushy  eye- 
brows, and  strove  to  sound  impersonal.  "That  so?"  he 
inquired.  "In  that  case  I  don't  suppose  it  would  do  any 
harm  to  talk  with  him  and  find  out  how  much  he  knows 
about  that  'across  the  border'  stuff  this  Mr.  Pearce  men- 
tioned?   You  think  we  can  count  on  him?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Alan,  less  bitterly  in  tone  than  he  felt 
in  his  heart. 

Dangerfield  appeared  to  shrug  himself  together.  He 
hunched  his  chair  up  beside  Alan's  again. 

"Well,  old  man,  it's  too  bad,"  he  declared,  slapping 
Alan  encouragingly  on  the  back,  as  though  to  sting  him 
out  of  this  curious  lethargy.  "But  not  so  bad  but  what 
it  might  be  worse,  as  the  saying  goes.  Luckily  for  us, 
we've  found  out  their  scheme  in  time.  I  guess  we  can  sow 
a  few  travelers  around  among  the  smoking  cars  ourselves. 
We'll  get  a  raft  of  'em  out  in  the  lobbies  of  the  small 
town  hotels,  too,  and  beat  'em  at  their  own  game.  This 
story  isn't  so  hydra-headed  but  what  we  won't  be  able 
to  lop  oif  every  lying  tongue  that  shoots  out. 

"Only,  Winslow;  I  ask  you  one  thing.  Will  you  tell 
us,  man  to  man,  how  much  of  this  you  know  for  a  fact 
to  be  true?  I  hate  to  ask  it,  but  in  self-defense  and 
yours,  for  the  party's  sake,  I  think  we  ought  to  know." 

Then  followed  the  most  humiliating  moments  of  Alan's 
life,  when  he  was  obliged,  as  he  had  foreseen  that  he  would 
be,  to  teU  something  of  the  fair  young  woman  whom  he 
thought  had  captured  his  heart,  but  who  had  not  bent 
to  his  will.  He  had  been  so  busy  during  the  summer,  he 
explained,  that  he  had  had  no  knowledge  of  the  extent 
of  her  association  with  the  Russians;  and  earlier  he  had 


308  A  Bird  of  Passage 

been  too  much  in  love  to  inquire  deeply  into  the  lady's  past 
history.  He  had  not  meant  to  be  a  traitor  to  his  country, 
nor  to  his  party,  and  he  gave  his  solemn  promise  to  break 
with  the  lady  if  necessary,  in  order  to  save  the  election. 
Quite  naturally,  Dangerfield  and  the  rest,  from  a  po- 
litical standpoint,  were  wholly  satisfied  with  the  turn 
events  had  taken;  but  in  his  secret  heart  each  man  of 
them  thought  with  a  little  shudder  that  this  attitude  wa& 
either  most  criminally  selfish,  or  else  it  indicated  inhuman 
devotion  to  the  man's  abstract  beliefs. 

IV 

That  same  evening  Olga  had  been  an  enthusiastic  spec- 
tator at  a  meeting  of  Feodor's  successfully  organized 
Society  for  Technical  Aid  to  Republican  Russia,  at  which 
$100,000  worth  of  sewing  and  garment-cutting  machines 
had  been  pledged  for  shipment  when  Feodor  should  return 
to  the  old  country. 

Coming  home  in  the  subway,  Olga  spoke  earnestly  to 
him. 

"For  weeks  now  I  have  been  thinking  that  I  would  like 
to  go  back  to  Russia  and  help  you  there,"  she  said.  "All 
my  life  I  have  longed  for  some  great  heroic  service  of  this 
kind.  It  never  came  before.  During  the  war  I  did  noth- 
ing. But  now!  I  have  money,  health,  brains,  and  so 
much  willingness.  Would  it  not  be  better  even  to  give  up 
my  engagement  to  Mt.  Winslow,  if  he  does  not  under- 
stand this  spirit  that  urges  me  onward.?  Then  I  might 
return  to  join  your  band  and  become  one  of  the  builders 
for  New  Russia.    What  a  life  that  would  be? 


A  Bird  of  Passage  309 

"It  is  the  only  way,  really,  Feodor,"  she  insisted.  *'I 
have  learned  now  that  even  in  the  United  States  there  is 
not  complete  freedom.  Freedom  is  something  that  exists 
within  the  mind  of  the  individual,  provided  of  course  that 
he  has  become  bodily  free  first.  I  know,  as  do  not  you, 
my  poor  friend,  that  there  are  degrees  of  such  liberty; 
and  the  United  States,  at  least,  is  unique  in  the  establish- 
ing of  that  personal  right.  Yet  for  all  that,  I  believe 
that  now  I  could  be  fully  as  free  in  Russia  as  I  ever  have 
been  on  the  continent  of  America,  because  I  think  I  have 
taken  the  fundamentals  to  my  heart.  Henceforward,  no 
matter  where  I  go,  I  shall  be  free  because  I  am  unfettered 
in  my  soul." 

Feodor  smiled  at  her  in  quiet  amusement. 

"You  are  become  more  fervent  as  you  grow  older,"  he 
remarked.    "But  perhaps  I  may  express  my  idea.? 

"Do  not  give  up  the  thought  of  marriage  with  Mr. 
Winslow.  It  is  less  spectacular,  maybe,  but  it  is  of  great 
value  to  our  cause.  Do  not  forget  the  aid  which  you, 
and  only  you,  could  bring  republican  Russia  through 
quiet,  subtle  direction  of  political  channels  here.  And  do 
not  misunderstand  me.  I  do  not  mean  intrigue.  Our 
new  nation  must  be  formed  without  lying  and  deceit.  But 
as  the  wife  of  a  United  States  senator,  think  how  you 
might  put  in  a  word  here  and  there  to  assure  the  people 
of  this  country  that  there  are  some  in  the  great,  chaotic 
land  of  the  white  bear  who  are  sincere,  and  who  will  keep 
the  faith." 

Olga  sighed  softly,  and  watched  the  lights  of  a  station- 
stop  flash  into  the  dark  and  out  again  with  the  speed  of 


310  A  Bird  of  Passage 

the  train.     So,  it  seemed  to  her,  must  she  give  up  this 
bright  flash  of  desire  and  adventure. 

"Well,"  she  agreed,  grudgingly.       **Perhaps  you  are 
right." 


CHAPTER  XVin 


But  morning  brought  revulsion  of  feeling  when  accounts 
In  the  papers  of  the  advancing  Bolshevist  army  seemed 
to  indicate  such  overwhelming  successes  that  Olga  cried 
aloud  in  the  quiet  of  the  gray  and  green  boudoir  where 
Braxton  had  brought  breakfast. 

"What  is  it,  Momsey?"  asked  Stanbury,  who  came 
every  morning  now  to  eat  his  toast  and  flakes  and  milk 
with  his  mother  because  he  was  going  away  to  school 
within  the  week.     "What's  the  matter?" 

Olga  looked  at  her  son  curiously  as  though  he  were 
some  stranger  lad. 

"My  boy,"  she  told  him,  "I  hope  that  some  day,  when- 
ever the  chance  comes,  you  will  not  be  afraid  to  fight  for 
the  things  you  honestly  believe  are  right.  If  I  were  a 
man,  I  should  buy  a  gun  and  join  the  Russian  army. 
That  country  should  have  ideals,  and  the  people  to  de- 
fend them."  She  stopped  suddenly,  put  down  the  news- 
paper and  poured  a  fresh  cup  of  coffee. 

"Your  mother  is  excited,  sonny,"  she  laughed  gaily. 
"If  you  follow  this  latest  advice  of  mine  at  school,  your 
reports  will  be  full  of  demerits  for  scrummaging.  Promise 
mother  you  won't  go  knocking  the  other  boys  about  I  In 
theory  it's  noble  to  fight  hard  for  what  you  want,  but  in 

311 


312  A  Bird  of  Passage 

real  life  more  often  than  not  you  have  to  wait  for  experi- 
ences to  teach  you  what  things  are  best  for  you  to  have. 
Our  own  ideas  always  have  to  be  modified,  and  there's 
always  some  way  that  we  have  to  be  taught,  though  it 
isn't  always  easy. 

"Remember  that,  Stanbury,  and  don't  let  th«n  beat  you 
in  spirit,  even  if  you  do  get  in  a  tight  place  where  you 
can't  hit  back  with  your  fists." 

Solemnly  the  boy  bit  into  a  slice  of  toast  and  marma- 
lade. 

"Yes,  Mother;  I  think  I  know  what  you  mean,"  he  re- 
sponded, with  suspicious  thickness  of  tone. 

"Be  careful,"  warned  his  mother  gently.  ''You'll  choke 
if  you  try  to  talk  and  eat,  too,  with  those  big  bites  you 
take.  Tell  me,  what  is  it  we  are  to  buy  for  you  this 
morning  when  we  go  shopping?  Did  you  bring  the  list 
from  Braxton,  dear.'"' 

From  his  jacket  pocket,  Stanbury  had  just  produced  a 
slip  of  paper  when  Braxton  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

"Mr.  Winslow,  ma'am,"  she  announced  imperturbably. 

"Oh,  I  didn't  hear  the  telephone,  Braxton,"  said  Olga, 
looking  up  from  the  list.  "I'll  answer  it  here.  And,  Brax- 
ton, I  want  to  look  at  the  condition  of  Master  Stanbury's 
boots  when  we're  through  breakfast.  You  can  send  for 
the  trays  in  five  minutes  or  so."  Olga  reached  for  the 
instnmient  concealed  beneath  a  silk-clad  figurine. 

"Hand  me  the  'phone,  will  you,  darling?"  she  asked  the 
boy. 

But  Braxton  stepped  forward,  smoothing  the  broad  old- 
fashioned  widths  of  her  ample  gray  skirt. 


A  Bird  of  Passage  313 

"1  beg  pardon,  ma'am,  but  he  isn't  on  the  telephone," 
she  ventured.  "Mr.  Winslow,  ma'am,  is  waiting  out  in  the 
drawing  room  and  says  he  must  see  you  at  once." 

"Mr.  Winslow!  In  the  drawing  room  at  this  hour  of 
the  morning?"  Olga  echoed,  sinking  back  for  an  instant 
against  the  pillows  of  the  chaise  lounge.  "Well,  I  dare 
say  it's  something  important."  She  rose  from  the  cush- 
ions and  began  to  unfasten  her  negligee. 

"Will  you  wait,  then,  Braxton,  and  help  me  get  into 
a  dress.''  I'm  practically  all  ready  for  the  street,  any- 
way. I  hope  we'll  not  be  kept  from  our  shopping,  Stan- 
bury.  .  .  .  Yes,  that  brown  one,  please.  And  I'll  want 
the  short  coat  that  matches  it,  and  the  little  hat  with 
the  brim,  later  on.  .  .  .  Stanbury,  dear,  you  go  and  read, 
or  amuse  yourself  for  a  while.  I  shan't  be  long."  She 
kissed  him  swiftly  on  her  way  past.  "Come  with  me, 
Kwang,"  she  snapped  her  fingers  lightly  at  the  little  Peke 
who  had  been  curled  on  a  cushion  beside  the  chaise  lounge. 

In  the  drawing-room,  Alan  was  pacing  slowly  back  and 
forth  in  the  space  between  the  two  east  windows,  feeling 
old  and  worn  after  a  sleepless  night. 

"Good-nloming,  Alan,"  called  Olga  cheerily  from  the 
doorway.  "You  are  up  before  breakfast.  Can  I  get  you 
some  coffee?"  But  when  he  turned  toward  her,  she  knew 
he  was  in  a  mood  she  had  not  yet  seen. 

"Good-morning,  Olga,"  he  murmured,  coming  slowly 
toward  her  down  the  room.  Light  from  the  windows  be- 
hind him  threw  into  relief  the  weary  lines  of  his  tall 
figure.  He  looked  like  a  defeated  man,  yet  when  she  could 
distinguish  the  expression  in  his  eyes,  a  sudden  fear  con- 


314  A  Bird  of  Passage 

stricted  her,  for  they  were  quiet  and  cold  as  pale  green 
agate  In  his  set  face. 

"Sit  down,  Olga,"  he  continued  mechanically,  as  though 
he  were  reciting  words  he  might  forget  if  he  ceased 
thinking  of  them.  "I  have  come  to  talk  with  you.  I  want 
to  be  fair." 

"Fair?"  she  repeated.  "Fair  with  me?"  In  little  sur- 
prised exclamations  such  as  this,  a  faint  trace  of  accent 
was  wont  to  ring  with  unaccustomed  charm;  though  to- 
day Alan  noted  it  as  an  inauspicious  sign.  "Why,  what 
is  the  matter  with  you?"  she  urged.  "You  look  tired. 
Sit  down  here  yourself  and  tell  me  what  has  happened." 

"No,  thank  you.  I'll  not  sit  down."  A  second's  de- 
liberation and  he  shot  a  quick  question.  "When  did  you 
see  that  Russian,  Serovitch,  last?" 

**Last  night,"  said  Olga  tranquilly,  without  a  thought 
of  any  need  for  evasion. 

"Last  night !"  he  reiterated,  in  hard,  incredulous  tones. 
"My  God !  And  you  must  have  been  with  him  at  the  very 
\ moment  Pearce  was  telling  his  story!"  He  looked  away 
from  her,  his  face  twisting  in  momentary  agony.  "What 
a  fool  I've  been!"  Wounded  pride  pressed  the  words 
from  his  lips. 

Olga  stepped  closer  to  him.  **What  are  you  talking 
about?    And  what  is  this  story?" 

**You've  got  to  sit  down."  He  clenched  his  fists  beneath 
his  folded  arms.  "You're  going  to  listen  to  me  ard  ex- 
plain as  best  you  can."  Olga  sat  on  the  edge  of  a  big 
velvet  wing  chair.  Logically  his  mind  commence"!  the 
recital. 

**Eariy  this  summer,  when  you  began  runninf     ^fter 


A  Bird  of  Passage  315 

that  Russian,  I  warned  jou  against  indiscretions  which 
I  believed  you  to  be  committing  through  possible  ignorance 
of  our  conventions.  I  thought  you  might  have  misunder- 
stood the  degree  of  liberty  we  have  in  this  country,  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  I  expected  something  different  from 
a  lady  who  claimed  to  have  been  acquainted  with  court 
circles  abroad. 

"I  was  proud  and  happy  when  you  consented  to  become 
my  wife.  I  believed  that  you  knew,  however,  how  essential 
it  was  to  our  future  happiness  to  forget  personal  plans 
until  I  might  safely  be  released  for  a  time  by  the  result 
of  the  approaching  election,  which  has,  until  recently, 
been  prophesied  to  be  overwhelmingly  in  favor  of  our 
party."  He  paused  reflectively.  "It  seems  impossible 
that  I  could  have  been  so  credulous,"  he  said,  and,  with 
a  side  glance  at  Olga,  resumed  speaking. 

"I  have  trusted  you,  as  though  you  were  already  my 
wife,  and  chary,  as  a  wife  should  be,  of  her  husband's 
honor.  But  how  do  you  regard  this  trust?  I'll  tell  you. 
.  .  .  Deliberately  you  have  disobeyed  my  wishes.  Dis- 
obeyed them  with  the  consequence  that  at  this  present 
moment  the  surety  of  my  election  stands  in  grave  danger. 
All  because  you  have  insisted  upon  consorting  with  this 
Russian."     He  turned  to  her  in  fierce,  quiet,  deadly  rage. 

"What  your  personal  relations  are  to  him  do  not  con- 
cern me  for  the  present,  but  I  demand  to  know  of  the 
woman  who  promised  to  marry  me  the  extent  of  the 
political  intrigue  this  fellow  is  directing.  I  have  the  right 
to  ask  whether  or  not  you  are  involved  in  another  plot  as 
dastardly  as  the  one  which  forced  you  out  of  Canada. 
I*ve  never  asked  about  your  life.     I've  accepted,  without 


316  A  Bird  of  Passage 

cavil,  whatever  you  told  me  to  believe,  but  now  I  come 
to  you.  If  this  election  is  lost,  it  will  be  because  you 
have " 

But  Olga  had  risen  to  her  feet.  Her  eyes  blazed  with 
a  righteous  anger,  and  when  she  spoke  therfe  was  pain  ii> 
her  voice. 

"Alan!**  she  commanded  sharply.  "Stop  talking  like 
that.  Do  you  know  what  you  are  saying  to  me.''  Who 
has  been  telling  you  these  horrible  things.''    Answer  me." 

"You  will  please  be  controlled,"  he  suggested.  "I  am 
very  well  aware, — only  too  sadly  aware, — of  the  sinister 
sound  of  my  words.  I  have  come  to  you  for  an  answer, 
and  upon  that  reply  depends  more  than  you  might  sup- 
pose." 

Olga  pressed  one  clenched  fist  tightly  against  her  lips. 

**I  tremble,"  she  exclaimed, — "tremble  with  rage.  Lis- 
ten to  me,  Alan  Winslow,  and  I  will  give  you  the  truth — to 
be  believed  or  not,  as  you  choose.  First  of  all,  I  shall 
fling  your  words  back  at  you. 

"You  say  I  have  misunderstood  the  degree  of  liberty  I 
have?  If  so,  then  I  am  proud  to  know  it.  You  imply 
that  I  have  not  been  careful  of  your  honor.  If  your 
attention  to  the  idle  words  of  others  is  an  indication  of 
your  care  for  my  good  name,  then  I  tell  you  that  we 
have  not  the  same  definition  of  honor!  As  for  your  vile 
insinuation  about  my  relations  with  Feodor, — that  I  shall 
for  the  moment  try  to  forget,  because  I,  in  my  turn, 
demand  an  apology  for  what  you  have  said  about  my 
life  in  Canada."  A  sob  choked  its  way  to  Olga's  lips, 
and  her  voice  broke.     Then  resolutely  she  went  on. 

"I   see   now  that  ^ou  would  never  understand  what 


A  Bird  of  Passage  317 

those  years  meant  to  me,  full  as  they  were  of  unselfish 
love.  Why  should  I  attempt  to  tell  you?  I  will  say 
this.  There  are  people  who  will  assure  you  that  I  had 
absolutely  no  knowledge  of  Eric  Holt's  plans,  no  matter 
how  much  appearances  were  against  me.  My  husband 
died,  some  said,  because  of  shock  at  reading  that  Dodd's 
story.  But  however  he  died,  he  went  loving  me  and 
believing  in  me.  That  much  he  tried  to  tell  me  with  his 
last  breath.  But  you !  Pf ah !  I  think  you  are  too  selfish 
to  die.  If  you  could  have  listened  to  yourself  just  now. 
*I  warned  you' — '/  was  proud  and  happy' — 'I  have  trusted 
you.'  Nonsense !  *My  wife,'  *my  election,'  'my  directions.' 
I'm  sick  of  all  of  it.    Do  you  hear  me  ? 

"So  I  will  tell  you  nothing  about  Feodor.  He  has  done 
no  plotting.  He  has  only  talked  to  those  citizens  of  the 
world,  who,  like  himself,  wish  to  see  something  beside 
chaos  in  a  great  country  where  millions  of  people  should 
by  right  be  living  happily.  Is  this  intrigue?  You  pre- 
tend that  when  you  have  been  elected  to  this  office  of 
yours  you  will  work  for  the  good  of  your  people  in  the 
CJnited  States.  You  think  that  is  honestly  your  own 
ijpinion,  but  I  say  that  they  were  bigger,  braver,  more 
^oble  men  than  you  who  made  this  country,  who  keep  it 
what  it  is  for  those  who  live  here.  Life  has  not  been 
altogether  kind  with  me,  and  I  am  not  to  be  wrongly 
judged  if  I  try  to  find  happiness,  or  if  I  make  mistakes 
as  I  search  for  it.  The  freedom  I  want  is  not  here,  be- 
cause there  is  nothing  for  me  to  do  that  I  might  not  do 
in  England  or  France.  My  soul  is  a  pioneer,  and  I  must 
follow  it  to  the  frontiers  of  the  world. 

"Can  you  believe  that?" 


318  A  Bird  of  Passage 

Alan  looked  at  her  sadly.  Whatever  love  he  had  came 
back  to  remind  him  how  pitiable  it  was  that  this  woman 
could  not  be  more  restrained  in  her  judgments.  He 
thought  of  his  future,  of  how  close  he  had  come  to  making 
the  fatal  mistake  of  his  life.  He  should  have  heeded  the 
Puritan  warning  which  the  strain  of  his  Cape  Cod  an- 
cestry sounded;  he  should  not  have  thought  of  marriage 
with  one  who  was  not  of  his  own  race.  Yet  how  lovely 
she  was  after  all, — standing  there  straight  and  slender, 
with  magnificent  fire  in  her  eyes. 

Olga  sat  down  again  in  the  wing  chair,  and  Alan  seated 
himself  on  the  piano  bench,  facing  her.  He  was  alarmed 
to  be  a  bit  unsteady. 

"It  is  nevertheless  you  who  does  not  understand,"  he 
remarked  at  length.  "You  are  like  a  child  who  goes  with 
high  spirit  into  an  unknown  adventure.  You  are  a  head- 
strong child,  and  I  know  now  that  it  is  not  a  person  like 
myself  who  is  fitted  to  guide  you.  I  am  aware  of  the 
pitfalls  society  spreads  for  the  heart  that  trusts  too  com- 
pletely, hence  I  make  it  my  purpose  to  avoid  them.  Per- 
haps it  is  because  my  disposition  is  suited  to  a  circum- 
scribed life  that  there  is  so  much  horror  for  me  in  the 
unconventional. 

"You  see,  we  do  not  understand  each  other's  reasoning. 
I  am  sorry  if  I  have  said  cruel  things,"  he  confessed, 
"but  there  was  cold  fear  numbing  my  brain.  You  are 
the  first  person  who  has  come  near  to  unsettling  my  life." 
Courteous  as  ever,  he  waited  for  her  to  take  advantage 
of  the  opening. 

Steadily  she  looked  at  him.  "Alan,"  she  answered 
finally,  "we  were  both  close  to  a  sad  mistake.     It  is  good 


A  Bird  of  Passage  319 

that  we  realized  all  this  in  time  before  both  our  lives 
were  spoiled. 

"You  shall  go  on  to  serve  your  country  in  your  way, 
and  I  shall  not  hinder.  I  am  right  in  supposing  that  you 
will  release  me  from  my  engagement  to  you?"  She  was 
about  to  remove  Winslow's  diamond  from  her  finger,  when 
Evans'  emphatic  footfalls  were  audible  in  the  hall.  In 
the  drawing  room  door,  he  coughed  discreetly  and  apolo- 
getically. 

"What  is  it,  Evans.?"  Olga  asked. 

^Tiady  Cornelia  Pendleton,  Madame,  and  Mr.  Chaunce 
Preston  are  calling,"  he  replied  impassively. 

"Very  well,  you  may  have  them  come  in."  She  turned 
to  Alan.     "Did  you  know  they  were  coming.''" 

He  rose  from  the  bench  and  paced  a  step  or  two. 

"No — no,  indeed,"  he  exclaimed,  and  waited  for  them 
to  appear. 

Cornelia  entered  swiftly,  followed  by  Preston.  She  was 
most  effective  in  a  black  tailleur,  with  perfect  accessories 
of  black  and  white,  though  just  a  trifle  sombre.  Preston, 
too,  was  rather  more  subdued  than  usual. 

"We  shouldn't  have  intruded  if  Evans  had  told  us 
you  were  occupied,"  said  Cornelia,  when  she  had  kissed 
Olga  affectionately  and  greeted  Alan.  "Please  tell  us  if 
we  are  unwelcome.  I  know  this  is  an  unusual  hour  for 
paying  calls,  unless  they  are  of  importance." 

"Then  I  take  it  that  yours  is  of  moment,"  put  in  Alan, 
who  had  exchanged  glances  as  well  as  salutations  with 
Preston.  He  wondered  whether  Miller  had  spoken  to  him 
as  yet.  "Perhaps  I  might  be  excused  and  come  again 
another  time." 


320  A  Bird  of  Passage 

"No!"  retorted  Olga.  ''You  must  all  stay.  Please 
sit  down,  for  I  have  something  to  tell  you,  Cornelia,  and 
you,  too,  Chaunce.  You  may  as  well  know  it  now.  .  .  ." 
She  drew  the  ring  from  her  left  hand.  "I  was  about  to 
return  Alan's  ring  when  you  were  announced,"  she  said 
quietly.    "If  you  will  permit  me." 

In  utter  silence  she  rose  and  gave  the  jewel  to  Alan, 
who  had  advanced  toward  her.  Cornelia  and  Preston 
flashed  to  each  other  their  instant  comprehension  of  the 
situation.  Who  had  told  her  of  the  stories  that  were 
circulating?  Each  of  them  resolved  to  let  the  other 
speak  their  errand  first,  in  such  a  case. 

"My  dear,"  protested  Cornelia  gently.  "What  is  this? 
Are  you  quite  sure  that  you  want  Mr.  Preston  and  me 
to  stay.?" 

"Please,  please,"  rejoined  Olga.  "You  mustn't  think 
it  indelicate  of  me  to  make  you  witness  my  action.  I 
need  you,  need  you  both ;  that  is  why  I  want  you  to  stay. 
I  don't  know  why  you  came,  but  you  must  hear  what 
has  happened  first." 

In  rapid  sentences  she  told  them  the  gist  of  Alan's 
words,  without  betraying  his  perturbation,  or  inferring 
that  there  had  been  high  words  between  them.  As  he 
listened,  Alan's  soul  swelled  with  a  new  pride,  born  of 
her  consideration. 

"I  was  just  about  to  decide  my  own  plans,  when  you 
came,"  she  continued. 

"May  I  ask  one  question?"  interrupted  Alan,  leaning 
forward  in  his  chair. 

"Don't  you   believe.   Lady   Pendleton,"   he   addressed 


A  Bird  of  Passage  321 

Cornelia,  "that  it  was  perfectly  natural  for  me  to  have 
been  concerned  over  these  stories?  And  wouldn't  a  man 
want  to  know  the  truth  about  them,  from  the  lips  of  his 
future  wife?     Particularly  when  so  much  was  at  stake?" 

Cornelia  looked  at  him  gravely. 

"Yes,  I  dare  say  it  was  natural,"  she  commented, 
speaking  slowly  and  thoughtfully.  "But  if  a  man  really 
loved  a  woman,  he  wouldn't  presuppose  too  much — do  you 
think?  .  .  .  And  certainly  anyone  who  cared  for  our  little 
Olga  here  would  never  believe  her  to  be  guilty  of  such 
charges  of  treason  and  duplicity.  I  couldn't  quite  under- 
stand that." 

"But  so  much  was  involved,"  faltered  Alan,  wondering 
at  the  same  time  why  he  persisted  in  this  attempt  at  self- 
justification.    "Do  you  get  my  point,  Preston?" 

The  latter  was  silent  a  moment. 

"Ye-es,"  he  drawled,  "I  think  so.  But  the  fact  of  your 
desire  to  save  the  election  surely  couldn't  have  driven 
you  to  believe  these  groundless  whispered  charges  against 
Olga.  A  man  shouldn't  take  every  word  of  smoking  room 
gossip  for  gospel." 

"Smoking  room  gossip,"  repeated  Olga,  in  amazement. 
"You  don't  mean  that  my  affairs  have  become  public 
property?" 

"Not  that,  Olga,"  assured  Preston.  "Winslow's  po- 
litical enemies  were  just  trying  to  stir  up  a  little  trouble. 
But  we'll  make  them  shut  their  mouths  in  double-quick 
time,  don't  you  fear." 

Olga  went  suddenly  to  sit  beside  Cornelia  on  the  daven- 
port.   The  elder  woman  took  her  hand  in  ready  sympathy. 


322  A  Bird  of  Passage 

and  though  Olga  smiled  at  all  of  them  in  a  shaky  imita- 
tion of  buoyancy,  she  gripped  Cornelia's  hand  tightly  for 
reassurance. 

"You  dear  people  mustn't  mind  me,"  she  insisted.  "All 
this  discussion  isn't  necessary  at  all,  because  in  these  last 
few  minutes  I've  made  up  my  mind  positively.  You 
mustn't  feel  sorry  for  me,  because  I'm  going  to  do  the 
thing  I  should  have  done  the  moment  Victor  died.  It's  the 
best  and  happiest  solution. 

"I  shall  leave  the  United  States  and  go  back  to  Russia. 
There  are  relatives  in  England,  though  purposely  I  have 
not  heard  from  them  often  since  I  left  Canada,  who 
would  watch  over  my  boy  if  I  put  him  in  school, — ^his 
father's  school."  She  looked  at  Cornelia.  "You  know 
I've  just  been  getting  him  ready  to  go  to  a  place  up 
in  Connecticut.  Then  I  would  return  to  Pskov,  to  see 
what  was  left  of  the  estate.  I've  never  known  how  much 
fighting  has  been  near  the  place. 

"What  I'll  do  after  that  I  can't  say  exactly,  but  at 
least  I  shall  try  to  live  a  useful  life.  Surely  I  should 
have  learned  how  by  this  time.  And  if  I  meet  anyone  who 
is  eager  and  restless,  I  shall  help  him  to  get  away  and 
try  his  wings.  That  feeling,  that  yearning,  is  what  has 
urged  me  on  from  girlhood ;  it  is  what  sends  me  back  now, 
with  my  wings  just  a  little  battered,  to  the  nest  I  left 
as  a  fledgling." 

Alan  straightened  uneasily  in  his  chair,  nervously 
smoothing  his  hair  with  the  palm  of  his  hand. 

"But,  my  dear  Olga,  I  can't  have  it  seem  that  you're 
being  driven  away  to  Russia,  or  anywhere  else.  Surely 
that  needn't  be."    There  was  distress  in  his  voice,  for  he 


A  Bird  of  Passage  323 

had  not  really  thought  to  lose  her  so  irrevocably  as  this. 

"No,  Alan,"  she  replied  earnestly.  "It  isn't  that  I'm 
being  forced  to  it.  I'm  not  afraid  to  stay  here  for  my 
own  sake,  yet  by  leaving  1  shall  only  be  doin^  what  my 
heart  told  me  to  do  long  ago.  Engaging  myself  to  you, 
whilst  I  thought  to  be  doing  as  I  pleased,  only  brought  me 
close  to  an — oh,  how  do  you  say,  'impasse'?  Now  I'm 
actually  breaking  away  for  the  first  time  alone,  with  a 
glorious,  unknown  future  before  me,  and  I  feel  my  shoul- 
ders lighter  already.  If  you  will  not  think  me  unflatter- 
ing?" 

Her  hand  trembled  involuntarily  in  Cornelia's  warm 
grasp,  so  that  the  other  soothed  her  with  the  little  mur- 
mured incoherences  that  women  know. 

Preston  opened  a  Dutch  silver  box  on  the  tabouret  near 
him. 

"I  say,  do  you  object  if  I  smoke?"  he  asked,  taking  a 
cigarette  and  drawing  the  matches  toward  him.  "Any  of 
you  have  one?"  He  offered  the  box  to  Alan  and  the 
ladies,  who  refused. 

"Perhaps  I  ought  to  have  taken  one,"  Olga  observed, 
in  an  attempt  at  gay  unconcern,  with  very  human  per- 
versity of  disposition  in  an  emotional  crisis. 

"Well,"  declared  Preston,  watching  the  smoke  rise  in 
blue  mistiness,  "I  can't  say  that  I  like  the  thought  of 
having  you  leave  us,  Olga.  I'll  be  lost  without  you.  And 
here's  my  sole  attempt  at  match-making  come  to  naught. 
It's  a  wonder  to  me  how  you  can  leave  without  some  feel- 
ing of  bitterness ;  you've  always  had  such  queer  notions  of 
democracy,  even  when  you  were  most  conscious  of  your 
own  ancestry.     That's  what  made  you  such  a  fascinating 


324  A  Bird  of  Passage 

puzzle  to  me,  because  I  don't  believe  you  knew  yourself 
what  you  wanted." 

"Oh,  yes,  Chaunce,"  replied  Olga,  eagerly,  glad  to  have 
the  conversation  turned  from  the  painfully  personal. 

"I  don't  think  any  of  you  quite  appreciated  what  I 
expected  to  find  in  this  country.  Across  the  water,  as 
you  know,  Cornelia,  we've  been  taught  that  everyone 
here  is  equal.  You  really  believe  that,  and  you  come  as 
close  to  making  it  truth  perhaps  as  it  is  possible  for 
human  beings  to  do.  But  beyond  that  is  where  I  made 
my  mistake.  I  had  expected  to  find  a  different  race, — 
not  the  same  kind  of  people  as  those  I'd  ever  known  be- 
fore. That's  why  it  didn't  seem  strange  for  me  to  be 
proud  of  the  fact  that  my  people  had  been  feudal  lords 
three  centuries  before  the  beginnings  of  your  country,  and 
yet  at  the  same  time  feel  a  sincere  interest  in  people  like 
that  plumber, — you  remember,  Chaunce,  the  one  who  also 
built  pipe-organs,  and  was  a  real  musician. 

"It  shouldn't  have  been  a  question  of  family,  because 
my  blood  is  more  noble  than  these  social  upstarts  could 
imagine.  There  isn't  any  comparison  between  their  stand- 
ing and  mine,  yet  it  is  I  who  have  been  left  unheeded  at 
their  doors  because  I  didn't  arrive  in  their  land  with  a 
fanfare  of  trumpetry,  and  didn't  keep  reminding  people 
who  I  was.  It  wouldn't  have  been  any  step  higher  in  the 
social  scale  for  me  to  associate  with  them,  still  I  am  made 
to  feel  of  slight  importance  beside  their  'first  families.' 
Now  that  plumber,  for  instance,  would  have  made  a  splen- 
did nobleman,  if  he  had  been  born  in  a  different  family. 
But  I  shouldn't  make  a  habit  of  going  around  among  the 
'people,'   because   they   are   always    suspected   of   being 


A  Bird  of  Passage  325 

plotters,  when  they  have  any  brains.  Poor  things,  it's 
hard  for  them  to  be  bound  by  poverty,  when  the  only 
thing  that's  responsible,  so  far  as  they  can  understand, 
is  what  somebody  has  called  the  *accident  of  birth.' 

"So  I  shall  try  to  forget  everything,  but  my  right  to 
recognize  merit  wherever  I  find  it.  Isn't  that  an  ideal 
to  take  back  with  me?" 

"You  are  a  sweet  child,"  said  Cornelia.  "But  I  can't 
help  wishing  the  home  folk  would  keep  you  with  them  in 
England." 

"Alan  called  me  a  child  just  a  moment  ago,  too,"  ob- 
jected Olga.     "It  isn't  childishness, — what  I  think." 

"It's  a  determined  idealism  that  makes  us  all  too  con- 
scious by  contrast  of  the  dust  on  our  own  souls,"  ex- 
plained Preston.  "You  make  us  feel  so  old  and  worn, 
with  your  freshness,  your  ability  to  get  up  and  go  on 
after  you've  stumbled  so  many  times  along  the  way."  He 
lit  a  fresh  cigarette. 

"Ah,  yes,"  Olga  acknowledged.  "If  that  is  not  free- 
dom, then  I  have  gone  through  all  this  in  vain.  There 
isn't  any  fear  in  the  world  that  binds  me  down  to  a  level 
of  living,  and  so,  ergo,  I  am  free.  Why  should  I  not 
always  get  up  and  go  on,  as  you  say?" 

"But  have  you  really  thought  of  this  Russian  business 
so  earnestly?"  interjected  Alan.  It  was  unusual,  this 
feeling  both  he  and  Olga  had  of  relief  and  renewed  confi- 
dence in  each  other,  now  that  their  lives  would  no  longer 
be  together.  Alan  longed  to  protect  her  from  the  un- 
known future  she  so  joyously  courted. 

"Yes,  often,"  she  told  him.  "There  was  an  injustice 
done   Feodor  in  my   childhood,  when   he  was   a   young 


326  A  Bird  of  Passage 

servant  in  my  uncle's  house.  Only  myself  and  a  little 
peasant  girl  knew  that  he  was  innocent  of  the  theft  for 
which  he  was  imprisoned.  She  dared  not  tell,  and  I  was 
not  believed  because  I  was  such  a  child.  For  many  years 
I  have  thought  of  that,  even  while  I  went  further  and 
further  from  Feodor's  country,  because  it  was  so  wrong 
to  give  great  power  indiscriminately  into  the  hands  of  a 
few  who  were  lords  and  nobles.  It  was  barbarism,  and 
I  wanted  to  change  it.  Then  I  found  myself  struggling 
for  identity,  lest  I  should  have  been  drawn  into  the  puppet 
life  about  a  throne,  so  I  almost  forgot  Feodor  for  a  time, 
though  not  the  wrong  through  which  he  had  suffered  so 
cruelly. 

"Now  that  the  war  has  abolished  the  power  of  mon- 
archs,  that  great  land  of  Russia  will  find  herself  as  she 
should  by  nature  be,  a  strong,  resourceful  nation,  despite 
these  present  perils.  There  are  such  millions  to  be  helped. 
I  want  to  go  back  and  do  my  share,  for  it  is  the  old 
'noblesse  oblige*  after  all,  which  will  endure  as  the  best 
remaining  trace  of  ancient  aristocracy.  You  must  know 
it  goes  in  a  brotherly  circle." 

"You're  a  brick,  Olga,"  announced  Preston,  at  last, 
rising  to  grasp  her  hand  impetuously.  "I  believe  you're 
going  to  find  the  place  where  they  all  'lived  happily  ever 
after,'  like  the  princess  in  fairy  stories.  Anyway,  it 
doesn't  do  the  old  world  any  harm  to  have  honest  souls 
like  you  in  it." 

Standing  with  her  hand  in  his,  Olga  pulled  Cornelia  up 
beside  her,  slipping  an  arm  about  her  waist. 

"Will  all  of  you  have  an  early  luncheon  with  me.?"  she 
invited.      "Let's   forget   everything  but   being  friends." 


A  Bird  of  Passage  327 

She  smiled  at  Preston.  "And  if  you  re  in  earnest,  you 
can  call  the  Star  line  for  me  and  ask  when  there's  a  boat 
for  Liverpool.  ...  I  must  go  as  soon  as  possible  before 
the  election." 

Under  cover  of  their  bantering,  Alan  turned  once  more 
to  stand  at  the  window,  unable  to  trust  himself  to  speak, 
until  Olga  had  left  the  room  and  Cornelia  came  to  offer 
a  word  of  encouragement. 


CHAPTER  XIX 


Safe  once  more  at  No.  30,  Grosvenor  Square,  Olga 
knew  what  it  meant  to  be  at  home  again.  Alix  and  Alfred, 
looking  older  from  the  strain  of  the  war-time,  had  been 
fairly  rejuvenated  by  their  enthusiasm  over  the  cable 
which  told  them  Olga  was  coming  to  bring  Victor's  son 
to  England;  and  their  preparations  for  welcoming  their 
**children"  knew  no  limits.  Save  for  a  brief  note  that 
she  was  going  to  New  York,  they  had  heard  nothing 
directly  since  Victor's  death,  for  Olga  had  been  too  heart- 
broken and  sad  at  the  time,  and  fearful  lest  they  had 
thought  her  really  responsible,  to  tell  them  more.  She 
would  not  have  had  them  feel  that  she  could  abuse  their 
friendship  and  love :  it  was  different  when  she  could  return 
with  triumphant  spirit  and  firm  purpose.  She  had  not 
been  beaten;  she  had  not  gone  shnking  home  whipped. 
Alfred  met  her  at  Liverpool,  to  Olga's  surprise  and  Brax- 
ton's utter  satisfaction;  at  last  her  mistress  had  her 
*'folks"  once  more,  and  since  every  good  servant  measures 
his  own  respectability  by  the  respectability  of  those  whom 
he  serves,  Braxton's  self-esteem  rose  to  the  highest  of  its 
old  levels.  Euston  Station  found  a  smart  motor  from 
MiddletQn  House  waiting,  with  an  impatient  Alix  on  the 
platform;  and  so  after  many  weeks  there  were  young 
voices  in  the  gray  stone  house,  and  childish  footsteps  in 

328 


A  Bird  of  Passage  329 

the  halls.  To  Olga  it  seemed  incredible  to  take  up  even 
a  semblance  of  the  old  sheltered  life  again,  painful  as  it 
was  at  first  when  she  missed  Victor  more  keenly ;  she  had 
found  herself  half  expecting  messages  and  notes,  as  she 
had  on  that  long-ago  visit,  and  there  were  memory  pic- 
tures of  him  recalled  by  the  long  drawing-room  where 
she  had  seen  the  pictures  of  Canada,  the  hearth  where  he 
had  stood,  the  corner  where  once  had  been  that  great 
basket  of  roses. 

"If  Victor  were  here,  I  should  think  I  had  died  and 
gone  to  Heaven,"  murmured  Olga,  sipping  coffee  in  the 
drawing-room  on  the  first  evening  after  their  arrival, 
when  Stanbury  had  been  put  to  bed.  "What  ages  ago 
it  seems  since  I  came  running  to  you  for  refuge, — and 
here  I  am  again." 

There  had  been  much  explanation  and  confession  be- 
tween the  three,  for  Olga  had  at  last  told  them  the  entire 
story. 

"How  well  I  understand,  my  dear,"  said  Alix.  "Had  I 
not  lived  in  England  for  so  many  years  before  the  war, 
had  I  not  been  the  widow  of  one  English  statesman  and 
the  wife  of  another,  it  would  have  gone  as  hard  with 
me,  I  am  afraid,  as  it  did  with  you.  But  all  that  is 
past,  and  we  can  rejoice  to  be  together  once  more.  I  am 
glad  that  you  came  home  without  having  married  this 
Alan ;  you  would  not  have  made  him  happy. 

"I  hope  you  will  remain  with  us  as  long  as  Stanbury  is 
in  school,  for  Middleton  House  is  your  home,  you  know, 
and  you  can't  possibly  fancy  what  it  means  to  Alfred  and 
me  already  to  have  you  and  the  boy  with  us.  I  had  not 
thought  life  could  hold  so  much  joy  again." 


330  A  Bird  of  Passage 

Flickers  of  flame  from  a  tiny  fire  laid  in  honor  of  the 
homecoming  darted  up  from  the  logs.  Olga  put  her  demi- 
tasse  on  the  table  beside  her  chair  and  looked  first  at 
Alfred,  standing  on  the  hearth,  immaculate  in  his  dinner 
clothes,  more  gaunt  than  he  had  been  nine  years  before, 
with  his  reddish-brown  mustache  more  gray ;  then  at  Alix, 
her  slenderness  a  trifle  sharpened  by  the  years,  though 
her  brown  hair  showed  only  the  merest  thread  or  two  of 
white,  and  her  choice  of  a  soft  leaf-green  velvet  gown  made 
her  seem  nearer  Olga's  own  age.  These  were  the  dear 
ones  she  must  leave  for  the  sake  of  an  ideal,  which  receded 
into  the  distance  as  she  tried  to  fix  her  mind  upon  it. 
Was  she  weakening  with  this  demonstration  of  affection.'' 
She  could  not  know  that  it  was  a  very  human,  very  for- 
givable response  to  love,  the  love  she  had  been  denied  for 
much  of  her  life.  Middleton  House!  Yes,  it  was  sweet 
to  be  there.    Alix*s  voice  broke  in  upon  her  revery. 

"Did  you  never  have  my  letter  about  Michael.'"'  she 
inquired,  startling  Olga  with  her  sudden  reference  to 
Russia. 

"No,  Aunt  Alix,"  replied  her  niece.  "When  was  it 
sent.?" 

"A  long  time  ago.  After  Alfred  and  I  had  come  back 
from  our  trip  around  the  world  I  found  a  message  for 
me  to  say  that  Michael  had  been  shot  and  killed  in  a 
secret  duel  at  Cannes.  He  was  such  a  reckless  boy.  Our 
blood  has  always  run  hot  in  our  veins." 

"Will  there  be  any  chance  of  buying  back  the  old  estate, 
do  you  think.?"  put  in  Olga.  "Poor  Uncle  Serov.  I  can 
remember  what  a  god  he  seemed  to  me." 


A  Bird  of  Passage  331 

Alfred  glanced  speculatively  at  Olga  across  his  shoul- 
der. 

"Buying  back  the  old  estate,  my  dear?"  he  asked. 
"Who  put  that  into  your  head?" 

"No  one,  Uncle  Alfred.  It  has  always  been  there  in 
the  back  of  my  brain.  That  is  one  of  the  reasons  I  am 
going  back." 

"Going  back?"  echoed  Alix,  in  surprise.  "Surely  you 
don't  mean  back  to  Russia,  in  this  turmoil?" 

Olga  gravely  nodded. 

"It  will  be  difficult  for  you  to  understand  that  I  must 
go  back,"  she  told  them.  "Unless  I  do,  I  shall  spoil  every- 
thing here,  as  I  have  done  elsewhere.  There  is  work  for 
me  in  Russia  that  no  other  place  in  the  world  affords,  and 
I  am  the  type  of  person  to  do  it." 

"But  Olga,  I  thought  you  were  only  sympathetic  when 
you  mentioned  helping  this  Feodor  in  New  York.  A 
woman  of  your  training  couldn't  be  of  service  to  the 
Russian  people.     And  beside  that,  we  want  you  here." 

*'Those  Bolos  are  a  misguided,  ignorant  lot,"  added 
Alfred.  "Their  ranks  are  full  of  German  spies.  Have 
you  considered  seriously  what  it  would  mean  if  their 
soviet  plan  was  effective?  That  country's  to  be  left  alone 
to  work  out  its  own  future.  The  Allies  got  their  troops 
away  from  the  far  north,  and  glad  the  lads  were  to  be 
out  of  the  fighting,  in  a  frozen  country  where  the  enemy 
outnumbered  'em  by  thousands.  And  there  were  some  of 
'em,  poor  fellows,  who  didn't  get  back,  whose  deaths 
struck  new  terror  into  the  rest  who  saw  what  savage  fiends 
the  Bolos  were.    Canadians,  Americans,  Italians  and  our 


332  A  Bird  of  Passage 

our  British  left  the  field,  not  certain  whether  they  were 
gettin'  out  through  ingenuity  or  by  the  grace  of  the 
Almighty  God,  though  the  odds  were  decidedly  in  favor 
of  the  latter."  He  leaned  an  elbow  against  the  mantel's 
edge  and  stared  down  at  the  glowing  bits  of  log. 

*'Y'  know,  this  Feodor  chap  may  have  been  givin'  you 
a  bit  of  chaff.  He'd  naturally  want  to  have  your  money 
and  your  interest,  but  maybe  he'd  not  let  on  all  he  knows 
about  conditions.  Or  else,  he  may  be  actin'  in  good  faith 
enough  without  bein'  better  informed  than  the  average. 

"I'm  not  wantin'  to  judge  him,  but  naturally  I  don't 
want  a  woman  of  my  family,  my  wife's  family,"  he 
amended  carefully,  "goin*  out  to  conditions  like  that." 

"I  know,"  conceded  Olga,  "and  it's  more  sweet  than  you 
can  imagine  to  have  someone  again  who  cares  so  much. 
Yet  it's  beside  the  point,  which  is  that  I  have  to  go  back. 
I  can't  live  happily  unless  I  do.  Perhaps  you'll  say  I  am 
a  fanatic  on  the  subject,  but  I  can't  explain  why  I  feel  this 
way.  It  must  be  the  same  devotion  that  drew  some  of 
the  emigres  back  to  France  later  in  the  revolution." 

"Yes,  and  lost  'em  their  heads  under  the  guillotine 
blade,"  broke  in  Alfred. 

"Ah,  but  not  all  of  them,"  exclaimed  Olga.  "Everyone 
can't  be  killed,  even  in  a  Reign  of  Terror.  Some  of  the 
people  who  remained  in  France  during  the  whole  disturb- 
ance came  through  to  wield  an  important  influence  in  the 
new  state.  What  if  Madame  de  Stael,  or  Josephine 
Beauhamais  had  been  cowards?  Or  even  Madame 
Roland?  .  .  .  Not,  of  course,  that  I  expect  to  become 
a  sort  of  Russian  Madame  de  Stael."    She  smiled  apolo- 


A  Bird  of  Passage  333 

getically.  "But  one  can't  help  from  a  distance  the  birth 
of  a  new  republic  such  as  we  aim  to  make  Russia." 

Taking  the  advantage  offered  by  the  conversation's 
turn,  Alix  left  her  place  to  open  a  heavy  writing  desk 
across  a  comer  at  the  far  end  of  the  room.  Olga  watched 
her  search  for  a  tiny  key  and  unlock  a  drawer.  Pressing 
a  spring  witliin,  the  false  bottom  of  the  drawer  slid 
slowly  backward. 

**]May  I  see  what  you're  doing.?"  she  called,  rising  and 
going  toward  Alix.  "Is  it  a  secret  drawer  you  have  ia 
that  quaint  old  desk?    How  thrilling." 

"Yes,  dear,  it's  a  piece  of  furniture  someone  in  Alfred's 
family  brought  from  Italy  centuries  ago.  Come,  look  at 
it,  if  you  choose.  But  I  have  something  for  you."  She 
brought  out  a  fairly  small  package  that  weighed 
heavily  in  Olga's  hand.  Carefully  wrapped  and  sealed, 
it  had  been  sent  from  some  place  in  Switzerland,  to  judge 
from  the  stamps  and  post  marks,  though  the  name  of  the 
town  was  illegible.  "Mrs.  Victor  Renfrew,  in  care  of 
Lady  Middleton,  No.  30,  Grosvenor  Square,  London, 
England,"  was  written  in  painstaking,  foreign  script. 

"That  isn't  Aunt  Soscha's  writing,"  Olga  exclaimed, 
turning  the  packet  about  for  a  clue.  Quickly  she  looked 
at  Alfred  and  Alix,  who  were  watching  her.  "Oh,  do  you 
suppose  .  .  ."  her  words  died  in  a  whisper,  as  she  read 
their  thought.  "How  long  ago  did  this  come,'"'  she  asked 
breathlessly. 

"About  a  fortnight,"  said  Alix.  "We  were  so  uncertain! 
of  your  New  York  address  that  we  dared  not  trust  this 
to  the  mails  or  the  express.     Our  letter  to  you  about  it 


334  A  Bird  of  Passage 

must  have  been  just  too  late.  At  first  we  thought  your 
cable  was  in  answer  to  our  message." 

"Come  over  here  an'  open  it,"  suggested  Alfred,  who 
had  swung  flat  the  drop  leaves  of  a  small  mahogany  card 
table  which  stood  against  the  wall  near  the  grate.  "You 
and  Alix  sit  on  the  sofa  there  and  I'll  pull  up  a  chair. 
I  confess  I've  been  curious  ever  since  the  thing  reached 
us." 

With  the  desk  scissors  Olga  snipped  the  strong  fine 
cords  and  cut  around  the  seal,  already  cracked  across. 

"I  don't  recognize  the  coat  of  arms,"  she  remarked, 
holding  it  out  to  Alix.  "It's  so  badly  mutilated  by  that 
crack,  but  it  looks  like  an  eagle's  wing  above  a  shield. 
And  there's  a  chevron  across  the  shield." 

"What  do  you  make  of  it,  Alfred?"  Alix  handed  the 
fragment  of  wax  and  paper  across  the  table.  *'It  doesn't 
seem  English  to  me  at  all,  and  I'm  not  familiar  with  the 
Almanac  de  Gotha." 

"Three  stars  on  the  chevron,"  commented  Alfred. 
"H'm!  I  can't  think,  straight  off.  We'll  ...  I  say, 
what's  up  ?"  An  exclamation  from  Olga  fixed  their  atten- 
tion. She  was  reading  a  note,  first  at  hand  on  top  of  a 
light-weight  metal  box  disclosed  by  the  unwrapping. 

**Listen  to  this,"  she  murmured.  "It's  signed  by  a  man 
named  Gebhardt, — just  a  few  lines.  *In  accordance  with 
the  last  wishes  of  your  respected  relative,  the  Countess 
Soscha  Hohenwald,  I  am  sending  to  you  a  box  left  at 
the  time  of  her  death,  which  occurred  here  in  Zurich  on 
the  tenth  day  of  September.  Madame  had  been  in  resi- 
dence at  my  mother's  pension  for  some  months,  having 


A  Bird  of  Passage  336 

been  taken  ill  on  her  way  to  rejoin  the  former  royal 
family  of  Austria  in  their  exile.  According  to  directions 
received  from  a  certain  Madame  Auersperg,  who  came 
here  soon  after  Madame's  demise,  we  have  accorded  the 
body  the  ceremonials  of  the  Church  and  have  placed  it  in 
a  vault  until  such  time  as  it  may  be  taken  elsewhere  at 
the  discretion  of  yourself,  whom  I  have  been  led  by 
Madame  Auersperg  to  believe,  is  the  lady's  nearest  liv- 
ing relative. 

*With  respect  awaiting  your  reply, 
*Anton  Gebhardt, 

*Gartenstrasse,  5,  Zurich.'*' 

Olga's  eyes  were  moist  with  tears  of  sympathy,  as  she 
finished  reading. 

"Poor  Aunt  Soscha,"  she  sighed.  "What  a  dreadful, 
dreadful  death,  in  a  dreary  little  pension  in  Zurich! 
And  alone,  save  for  this  boy's  mother,  no  doubt." 

"But  they  were  honest,"  said  Alix.  "They  have  written 
as  they  could.  I'm  sure,  if  that  is  their  coat-of-arms, 
they  must  be  nobility  in  reduced  circumstances." 

"This  is  the  twentieth  of  October,  and  it  says  she  died 
the  tenth  of  September?"  inquired  Alfred.  "That's  ex- 
ceedingly quick  to  my  way  of  thinking.  But  you'd  best 
see  what  is  in  the  box."  Alfred  forced  the  small  lock  with 
a  heavy  paper  knife  and  beneath  a  layer  of  thin  paper 
was  a  leather  box,  its  top  scratched  and  worn,  though  the 
marks  of  time  had  not  wholly  obliterated  the  well-re- 
membered Austrian  eagle,  its  double  head  traced  in  fine 
lines  of  gold.    Gently  Olga  lifted  it  out. 

"One  of  Aunt  Soscha's  trinket  boxes,"  she  explained. 


336  A  Bird  of  Passage 

surprised  to  find  how  emotion  recalled  connections  of  the 
old  court  life.  *'I  can  almost  see  her  now,  as  I  would 
be  allowed  to  help  her  dress  for  some  court  function. 
There  used  to  be  an  emerald  pendant  in  this  box,  but 
she  had  so  many  jewels." 

Lined  with  purple  satin  in  tight,  old-fashioned  folds, 
the  box  contained  a  number  of  smaller  packages,  done  up 
in  tissue  which  disclosed  a  ring  with  three  enormous  rubies 
set  in  big  prongs  of  gold  ^and  encircled  with  diamonds ; 
the  broad  band  of  a  wedding  ring;  a  great  brooch  in  an 
exquisite  design  of  fleur-de-lis  and  delicate,  curving  trac 
ery  covered  solidly  "by  brilliant  stones,  at  least  eight  oi 
ten  of  the  largest  swinging  below  the  pin  itself  in  a 
semi-circular  chain ;  a  short  string  of  matched  pearls  that 
tumbled  from  their  cotton  wrapping  to  form  a  pool  of 
lustre  on  the  table;  and  last  of  all  the  solitary  pear- 
shaped  emerald,  suspended  from  a  setting  of  diamonds. 
Even  Alix  was  impressed  by  the  splendor  of  these  treas- 
ures piled  on  a  flat  velvet  cushion  she  had  hastily  snatched 
from  a  foot-stool  nearby.  But  Olga  knew  that  they  were 
only  the  merest  remnants  of  her  aunt's  former  belong- 
ings. Where  was  the  locket  with  the  Empress  Elisabeth's 
initials  done  in  tiny  diamonds,  and  the  single  square  dia- 
mond Elisabeth  had  once  given  Soscha?  The  ruby  neck- 
lace, the  gorgeous  tiara,  the  flashing  stomacher  worn  at 
the  court  balls?  Even  the  topaz  and  silver  necklace  was 
missing,  the  rare  old  chain  which  had  been  a  gift  to 
Soscha  from  her  brother's  wife  when  but  a  bride,  an  orna- 
ment Olga  had  seen  only  once,  and  had  never  forgotten 
because  it  had  been  bestowed  by  her  mother. 


A  Bird  of  Passage  337 

"Oh,  Aunt  Alix,"  murmured  Olga,  "there  are  so  many 
things  missing.  These  are  such  a  few  of  all  her  mar- 
velous stones." 

Alfred  lifted  the  brooch,  setting  the  little  chain  of 
diamonds  a-swing,  as  they  threw  flecks  of  rainbow  color 
about  the  firelit  room. 

"Magnificent  piece,"  he  observed.  "You  know  there  was 
so  much  racket  at  the  last,  and  so  much  poverty,  that  I 
fancy  the  Countess  was  fortunate  to  get  away  with  her 
life.  And  you  may  believe  that  she'd  had  to  sell  some 
of  her  precious  collection  to  keep  from  starving.  It's 
been  almost  six  years  since  the  war  began." 

"How  terribly  Soscha  must  have  suff'ered,"  commented 
Alix.  "Not  so  much  physically,  but  in  spirit.  What 
pride  she  had !  I  think  it  had  its  first  blow  the  afternoon 
of  the  day  you  were  married,  Olga,  when  von  Lainz  turned 
on  her,  here  in  this  very  room." 

"She  was  such  a  tremendous  aristocrat,"  Olga  agreed. 
"I  think  that  is  why  she  kept  the  pendant  until  the  last, 
for  the  Emperor's  famous  ring  was  an  emerald,  like  none 
other  in  the  world,  and  it  was  like  Aunt  Soscha  to  have 
cherished  her  emerald.  If  she  was  proud,  she  was  at 
least  consistent.  I  could  have  loved  her  very  much,  I 
know,  if  she  had  let  me.  But  always  she  was  unbending, 
as  if  there  were  some  reason  why  she  dared  not  care  too 
much.  Once  or  twice  I  surprised  a  tender  light  in  her 
eyes,  but  she  was  quick  to  hide  it  and  as  I  grew  older,  it 
seldom  came  any  more.  I  suppose  I  had  disappointed 
her  so  cruelly  with  my  stubbornness." 

"Ah,  my  dear,  whatever  her  feeling  for  you,  what  ex- 


338  A  Bird  of  Passage 

cuse  could  be  given  for  that  attempt  to  marry  you  to  von 
Lainz?"  reminded  Alix.  "It  was  not  love  for  you,  at 
least,  that  prompted  her." 

"I've  often  wondered  why  she  was  so  determined  to 
have  me  marry  into  the  court  circles.  She  was  hardly 
natural  in  forcing  me  so,  and  yet  perhaps  with  her  train- 
ing, it  was  the  only  natural  desire." 

"At  any  rate  it's  too  late  now,"  added  Alfred.  *'Isn't 
there  any  message  from  the  Countess  herself.'"' 

Looking  again  into  the  metal  box,  Olga  foijnd  an  en- 
velope thick  with  papers. 

"This  must  be  a  letter,"  she  declared.  "See,  my  name 
in  her  hand-writing."  With  trembling  fingers  Olga  ner- 
vously tore  the  flap  of  the  envelope  and  unfolded  the 
missive.  Crackling  of  the  tough,  wiry  paper  made  the 
only  sound  in  the  room. 

"It  is  dated  September,  1910,"  she  exclaimed  in  aston- 
ishment. "Why  that  must  have  been  just  after  she  re- 
turned from  following  us  to  Canada.  You  remember  that 
I  wouldn't  go  down  to  see  her  then?"  She  began  to  read 
by  the  light  of  the  fire. 

"The  Hofburg,  Vienna, 
September  1st,  1910. 
"My  dear  Olga: 

*'As  I  sit  here  in  the  familiar  rooms  you  knew  so  well,  I 
think  of  you  out  in  the  wilds  of  Canada  with  your  Eng- 
lishman. To  marry  him  as  you  did  and  leave  your  own 
country  was  only  the  last  of  your  acts  contrary  to  my 
better  judgment  for  you.  Your  treatment  of  Colonel  von 
Lainz  and  myself  in  London  I  shall  not  mention.     You 


A  Bird  of  Passage  339 

might  have  saved  me  a  double  disgrace  there,  and  since 
you  have  chosen  to  break  all  links  with  the  past,  since  I 
could  not  see  you  in  Brockton,  I  shall  seek  to  interfere  no 
further;  in  fact,  when  you  read  this,  if  I  have  my  way 
once  more,  I  shall  be  dead  and  past  all  caring. 

''Remembering  how  you  have  taken  your  life  in  your 
own  hands,  I  have  decided  to  tell  you  at  length  of  the 
precious  possession  you  have  left  behind  you  here  in  the 
Hofburg.  If  fate  is  kind  to  you,  after  I'm  gone  you  will 
still  be  able  to  recover  this  treasure;  if  it  should  pass 
beyond  your  recovery  before  I  die,  then  I  will  believe  that 
Heaven  has  punished  you  in  its  own  way.  This  letter  is 
to  bring  you  news  of  your  mother,  alive  and  well  here  in 
the  palace  as  I  write." 

Olga's  voice  rose  suddenly  to  an  uncontrolled  shriek. 

"My  Mother"  she  sobbed,  dropping  the  letter  and  look- 
ing at  Alix,  whose  glance  reflected  her  alarm.  "Oh,  Aunt 
Alix,  what  did  she  mean?  It  isn't  a  hideous  joke?"  The 
piteous  question  faltered  from  her  lips.  "She  couldn't 
have  hated  me  so." 

"Marie,"  whispered  Alix,  at  the  same  time.  "My  little 
sister.  .  .  .  But  no !  She  was  killed  long  ago,  or  so  they 
said.  Read  more  of  the  letter;  what  does  Soscha  say.?" 
She  leaned  toward  Olga,  who  again  picked  up  the  sheets 
of  paper.  But  her  hand  shook  with  excitement  and  she 
found  it  difficult  to  follow  the  lines  of  writing. 

"I  can't  read  it,"  she  cried,  tears  now  streaming  down 
her  cheeks.  "Take  it.  Uncle  Alfred,  I  must  know  what 
she  says  about  my  mother." 

Alfred  pressed  on  a  light  beneath  an  amber  silk  shaded 


340  A  Bird  of  Passage 

reading  lamp,  and  pulling  his  chair  beside  it,  took  up  the 
letter. 

"Steady  on,  girl,"  he  offered,  huskily,  clearing  his 
throat. 

Alix  moved  closer  to  Olga  and  the  young  woman  buried 
her  face  against  her  aunt's  shoulder.  Alfred  resumed  the 
text. 

"H'm, — where's  the  place .'*  Oh,  yes, — 'here  in  the  pal- 
ace as  I  write.' 

"Many  times  you  have  seen  her,  often  you  have  talked 
to  her;  you  have  loved  her,  even,  without  knowing  why, 
and  she  dared  not  tell.  For  your  mother  is  Marie  Angela, 
known  here  in  the  Court  as  the  Countess  Dericote." 

Olga  sat  up  abruptly. 

"Aunt  Alix,  not  the  Countess  Dericote?"  she  implored. 
"Oh,  I  understand  so  much  now." 

Alix  drew  Olga  into  the  circle  of  her  arm,  and  Alfred 
read  on,  to  the  accompaniment  of  Olga's  quiet  sobbing, 
which  gradually  ceased  as  his  steady  voice  developed  the 
story. 

"My  poor  brother  Franz,  Baron  von  Kranz,  was  mar- 
ried to  your  mother,  Marie  Angela  Serov,  a  young  Rus- 
sian. Michael  Serov  is  your  uncle,  true  enough,  and  Alix 
Middleton  your  aunt.  The  estate  near  Pskov,  from 
whence  your  income  was  derived  for  many  years,  belonged 
to  your  mother's  family.  As  you  know,  the  story  told  in 
connection  with  the  death  of  your  father  and  mother  is 
that  they  were  killed  in  a  coaching  wreck  in  the  mountains 
when  you  were  two  years  old.  That  is  a  lie.  Your  father 
was  killed,  but  your  mother,  her  punishment  made  sharper 
every  day,  has  been  forced  to  watch  you  growing  up, 


A  Bird  of  Passage  341 

without  the  right  to  care  for  you,  advise  you,  nor  love 
you,  save  as  a  stranger,  the  Countess  Dericote.  You  shall 
have  the  reason. 

"Your  mother  and  father  were  very  happy  together. 
A  military  life  had  always  interested  your  father,  who  was 
most  proud  of  his  rank  as  a  member  of  the  general  staff, 
and  of  the  fact  that  his  father  before  him,  after  thirty- 
five  years  of  service,  had  gained  the  patent  of  nobility, 
which  made  the  familj'  name  S'on'  Kranz.  Your  mother 
was  a  gay,  generous,  impulsive  little  thing — full  of  life 
and  enthusiasm.  After  they  were  married  they  lived  in 
Vienna,  going  occasionally  to  Russia  in  the  summer,  where 
you  were  bom. 

"About  a  year  and  a  half  after  your  birth  a  certain 
Count  Peter  von  Brueckholz  came  to  the  court  from 
Berlin.  He  had  been  summoned  by  the  Emperor  in  con- 
nection with  the  policy  of  alliance  with  Germany  which 
was  already  being  recognized  as  essential  to  the  future 
of  the  Empire.  While  at  the  court  he  met  your  mother, 
with  whom  he  began  a  violent  flirtation.  My  position  as 
one  of  Empress  Elisabeth's  ladies-in-waiting  made  it  pos- 
sible for  me  to  watch  the  progress  of  the  affair,  which  I 
was  naturally  most  eager  to  stop.  Poor  Franz  seemed 
blind  to  your  mother's  indiscretions  with  the  German.  (I 
must  say,  in  justice  to  her,  that  save  for  the  fatal  ar- 
rangement in  which  it  all  ended,  the  indiscretions  were 
innocent  enough.  Before  God,  who  will  have  been  my 
judge  e'er  you  read  this,  I  cannot  say  less.)  I  thought 
the  time  would  never  come  for  Count  Peter  to  return  to 
Berlin,  and  in  desperation,  I  planned  to  have  Franz  take 
your  mother  for  a  little  excursion  into  the  mountains. 


342  A  Bird  of  Passage 

going  by  easy  stages  up  into  Russia,  where  you  had  al- 
ready been  sent  for  the  summer  that  was  approaching. 
But  Count  Peter  heard  of  the  plan.  He  hastened  his 
preparations  for  departure,  and  came  to  your  mother 
with  his  scheme.  She  was  to  proceed  with  her  packing, 
as  though  she  meant  to  go  with  your  father,  but  at  the 
last  moment,  he,  Count  Peter,  would  have  the  fastest 
horses  available  and  together  they  would  race  through 
the  country  by  a  mountain  pass  that  would  soon  bring 
them  to  the  border  and  safety.  Your  mother  gave  her 
consent  to  the  wretched  business. 

"When  the  day  came  for  the  departure  of  your  mother 
and  father,  I  was  at  their  little  house  to  see  them  off. 
Then  Franz  had  a  duty  at  the  Burg,  a  sudden  call,  which 
was  all  the  others  needed  to  smooth  the  way,  and  like  a 
fool  I  drove  to  the  palace  with  my  brother,  leaving  your 
mother  alone.  I  shall  never  forget  the  farewell  with  which 
Marie  sent  her  husband  away.  She  was  sweet  and  alto- 
gether lovely  that  morning,  and  I  could  not  blame  Franz 
for  his  great  boyish  sigh  of  sheer  rapture.  *0h,  Soscha ! 
Isn't  she  a  wonderful  thing?  And  all  mine  !*  Poor  fatu- 
ous lad! 

"Just  in  the  hour  while  Franz  was  at  the  Burg,  Count 
Peter  reached  the  house  and  left  again  with  your  mother 
in  the  carriage.  Then  came  Franz  to  me,  wild  with  fear 
and  pain.  One  of  his  under-officers  had  seen  Count  Peter 
and  Marie  driving  out  toward  the  northwest,  and  Franz 
was  to  follow  them.  Andreas  Hoyos,  the  under-officer, 
had  a  carriage  and  two  houses  even  more  swift  than  Count 
Peter's.    Franz  whirled  oflP,  his  poor  face  white  and  drawn, 


A  Bird  of  Passage  343 

mad  with  the  determination  to  overtake  the  culprits.  I 
never  saw  him  alive  after  that. 

"From  Andreas  came  the  rest  of  the  story.  Franz 
whipped  the  horses  on  and  on,  up  and  down  the  rolling 
mountain  side.  By  instinct  they  followed  a  certain  road 
to  the  frontier,  and  at  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  hav- 
ing stopped  only  to  inquire  the  possibility  of  a  coach 
having  passed  that  way,  they  were  rewarded  with  the 
sight  of  the  fugitives.  Count  Peter  kept  the  lead,  but 
Andreas's  horses  gained  gradually  until  the  two  vehicles 
were  scarcely  a  half  mile  apart.  Then  they  came  to  a 
down  grade,  with  a  sharp  turn  on  the  cliff's  edge  midway 
down  the  slope, — a  famous  and  dangerous  point  termed 
the  'Devil's  Elbow.'  Count  Peter,  with  instinctive  caution 
as  diabolical  as  the  road  itself,  pulled  his  horses  up  short 
midway  on  the  hill  and  got  around  the  corner  safely.  But 
Franz  had  been  obliged  to  check  his  pair  so  sharply  that 
he  could  not  make  the  turn  in  safety,  and  the  carriage 
went  crashing  against  the  rocks.  Andreas  escaped  by  a 
miracle,  leaping  the  wreckage. 

"Marie  screamed  shrilly  when  she  heard  the  crash,  and 
seizing  the  reins  from  Count  Peter's  hands  in  a  frenzy 
stood  up  in  their  swaying  vehicle  and  brought  the  horses 
to  a  full  stop.  In  that  moment  all  her  love  for  Franz 
had  come  sweeping  back  over  her,  together  with  the  reali- 
zation of  her  foolishness, — nay,  more,  what  had  become 
her  wickedness!  Blind  with  fury,  Count  Peter  tried  to 
hold  her  in  the  carriage,  but  she  leapt  out  and  he  had 
no  other  choice  than  to  follow.  As  the  two  ran  stumb- 
ling back  over  the  road,  Andreas,  crouching  beside  the 


344!  A  Bird  of  Passage 

broken  dashboard,  drew  his  revolver  and  fired.  The 
Count's  figure  stopped,  tottered  a  step,  and  fell  backward 
over  the  cliif.  Marie  did  not  look  behind  her,  Andreas 
said.  She  came  to  the  carriage,  where  the  twisted  body 
of  poor  Franz  was  lying  with  its  head  against  a  stone. 
*0h,  my  Grod!'  Andreas  heard  her  cry.  *Franz!  Can't 
you  speak  to  me?  Oh,  my  God!  I've  killed  him!  My 
Franz,  my  poor  Franz !'  She  flung  herself  upon  the  body 
and  lay  there  moaning. 

"Andreas  wasted  no  time,  but  ran  up  the  road  and 
backed  the  other  horses  down  to  the  wreck.  With  some 
heaven-sent  strength  he  lifted  the  body  of  Franz  into  the 
carriage,  got  Marie,  weak  and  sobbing,  in  beside  it,  and 
continued  to  back  the  carriage  over  the  splintered  frag- 
ments of  wood,  around  the  bend,  and  up  the  hill  until 
he  could  turn  and  drive  back  to  town.  It  was  after  mid- 
night when  he  reached  the  city,  where  he  went  at  once  to 
Franz's  house,  and  dispatched  a  messenger  for  me. 

**To  be  brief  and  pass  over  the  scenes  of  horror  in 
those  days !  With  your  mother  there  was  but  one  thing 
to  do.  We  did  not  know  what  details  of  court  politics 
Count  Peter  had  disclosed  to  her.  His  papers  had  been 
lost,  yet  we  did  not  know  with  what  amount  of  their  con- 
tents she  was  familiar.  She  was  a  Russian ;  Austria's  un- 
derstanding with  Russia  on  the  Balkan  situation  was 
none  too  secure.  Count  Peter  was  German;  Austria's 
necessary  alliance  with  Germany  could  not  be  endangered 
by  complications  from  a  Russian  source.  There  was  but 
one  thing  to  do.  We  had  an  audience  with  the  Emperor 
the  next  morning.  Marie,  distrait  and  almost  hysterical 
with  grief,  was  questioned  as  to  her  knowledge  of  Count 


A  Bird  of  Passage  34j5 

Peter's  affairs.  She  said  that  she  knew  nothing  of  poli- 
cies and  the  like.  Perhaps  she  spoke  the  truth,  but 
Austria  takes  no  chances.  When  they  could  not  wring 
from  her  an  admission,  the  Emperor  gave  his  ultimatum. 
She  could  not  be  sent  out  of  the  country,  lest  the  informa- 
tion in  her  possession  and  her  knowledge  of  the  Court  be 
turned  against  the  Fatherland.  She  was  consequently 
banished  to  an  abandoned  lodge  up  in  the  mountains, 
until  the  Court  might  forget  her.  Her  death  was  an- 
nounced as  having  occurred  with  that  of  my  poor  Franz, 
— she  had  been  dashed  over  the  cliff  in  the  accident,  was 
the  report.  It  was  simple,  such  a  story,  for  had  I  not 
gone  to  their  house  to  see  them  off  that  morning?  The 
death  of  Count  Peter  was  reported  to  us  three  weeks  later 
from  Berlin,  a  despatch  having  been  sent  to  the  Wilhelm- 
strasse  and  to  Vienna,  announcing  that  the  former  envoy 
had  died  of  apoplexy  at  Badenhof,  whither  he  had  gone 
for  a  cure. 

"Even  your  uncle  in  Russia  and  your  aunt  in  England 
heard  this  story,  and  no  one  but  the  Emperor,  Andreas, 
and  myself  knew  the  whole  truth.  I  was  given  the  cus- 
tody of  Franz's  child, — yourself. 

"As  the  years  went  on  I  grieved  more  and  more  for  my 
little  brother,  and  my  anger  rose  against  your  mother. 
After  a  period  I  began  to  think  of  cruel  revenges.  Then 
my  brain  hatched  the  most  sublimely  cruel  of  all.  I  asked 
the  Emperor  (it  was  ten  years  after  the  sad  affair,  and 
no  diplomatic  difficulty  had  arisen  as  the  result  of  it) 
if  your  mother  might  be  brought  to  the  Burg.  I  said  that 
I  thought  she  might  be  plotting  to  escape  unless  this 
were  done.     The  people  at  court  had  forgotten  Marie; 


346  A  Bird  of  Passage 

she  could  be  given  an  assumed  title  and  a  nominal  duty. 
My  reason  to  him  was  that  she  might  be  watched  more 
closely,  but  the  exquisite  reason  in  my  own  mind  was  to 
torture  her  with  the  sight  of  you.  She  would  not  dare 
tell  you  who  she  was,  and  she  would  be  obliged  to  know  you 
as  a  stranger,  watching  others  possess  your  love  and  the 
right  to  share  life  with  you  day  by  day.  In  my  turn  I 
might  watch  her  agony,  which  she  might  not  show  to  the 
rest  of  the  world,  and  thus  my  revenge  would  be  complete. 

**The  rest  you  know. 

'Tor  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  am  a  defeated  old 
woman,  and  tired.  You  wonder  why  this  story  is  so 
fresh  in  my  mind?  It  is  because  I  have  thought  of  noth- 
ing else.  Always  in  my  brain  has  been  that  heavy  sorrow 
and  the  heavier  revenge.  No  moment  of  my  life,  not  even 
when  my  own  husband  died  in  battle  and  they  brought  him 
home  to  me,  has  been  so  clear  down  through  the  years. 
So  I  am  able  to  give  it  to  you  in  all  distinctness.  I  had 
determined  to  tell  you  when  I  followed  you  to  Canada, 
but  you  know  why  I  have  returned  with  the  secret  still 
locked  in  my  heart. 

**Do  not  judge  me  too  harshly,  and  do  not  feel  that  your 
mother  has  been  made  to  suffer  im justly.  Remember  that 
she  killed  your  father  as  surely  as  Andreas  sent  Count 
Peter  to  his  death  over  the  cliff.  I  adored  my  little 
brother, — my  Franzi,  and  as  I  said  in  the  beginning,  your 
mother  is  still  alive.  If  she  has  been  punished  enough, 
God  will  spare  her  to  you.  Perhaps  you  will  even  come 
back  to  her  from  across  the  sea,  but  she  will  be  an  old 
woman,  too.     If  you  had  married  a  Viennese  and  stayed 


A  Bird  of  Passage  347 

in  your  country,  think  of  the  opportunities  you  might 
have  had  to  be  with  your  mother.  But  no!  You  were 
foolish  and  headstrong,  too ;  and  you  have  run  away  from 
her. 

'*TVhen  death  takes  me,  it  will  not  find  me  sorry  for 
any  part  in  your  life  or  your  mother's.  If  I  have  a 
punishment  to  come,  it  can  be  no  worse  than  to  have  had 
Franz  taken  away  from  me  as  he  was.  So  I  do  not  send 
you  my  love  with  this  letter,  lest  you  should  curse  it. 
You  would  curse  a  dead  woman,  and  I  spare  you  that. 
I  do  not  even  ask  you  to  think  kindly  of  me.  Periiaps  you 
will  understand  why  I  have  been  firm  and  stem  with  you. 
But  I  did  try  to  be  kind,  I  could  not  help  it;  you  had 
Franz's  eyes.  My  love,  such  as  it  was,  was  about  you 
for  his  sake,  and  it  is  for  his  sake  that  I  have  written; 
for  his  sake  I  say  simply,  *Farewell !' 

**Soscha,  Countess  Hohenwald." 

Olga  sat  as  though  stunned  when  she  had  finished  the 
letter.  She  had  long  since  withdrawn  from  Alix's  embrace 
and  remained  motionless,  her  cheeks  growing  scarlet  and 
her  breath  coming  in  quick  little  gasps. 

'Toor  Aunt  Soscha,"  she  exclaimed.  *'But  I  couldn't 
have  been  expected  to  see  her  in  Brockton,"  she  broke  out, 
as  Alfred  read  *Tarewell!"  "Aunt  Soscha  couldn't  real- 
ize that  it  was  the  fear  of  her  that  prevented  me. 
I  was  afraid  she  was  coming  to  destroy  the  only  happi- 
ness my  life  had  known.  And  she  would  have  destroyed 
it!  No!  I  should  have  known  about  my  mother,  and 
perhaps  Victor  would  not  have  died.  Do  you  think  now 
that  my  mother  is  gone,  too.'*"     Her  eagerness  for  con- 


348  A  Bird  of  Passage 

solation  was  heartbreaking.  "Have  I  been  wicked  and 
killed  her?  Aunt  Alix,  Uncle  Alfred?  Tell  me  what  you 
think?" 

"Stop  a  minute,"  said  Alfred,  who  had  been  scanning 
the  close  of  the  letter.  "Here's  a  fresh  bit,  dated  in 
this  year,  about  a  month  before  she  died. 

"  'I  have  a  premonition  that  I  shall  never  leave  this 
place  alive,  and  before  I  die,  it  is  only  fair  to  tell  you 
that  your  mother  escaped  into  Russia  when  the  monarchy 
fell.  She  may  have  gone  back  to  her  childhood  home,  but 
even  that  is  six  years  ago.  I  wish  now,  as  death  draws 
near,  that  I  could  tell  you  more.' 

"Well,  by  Jove!"  ejaculated  Alfred,  tugging  at  his 
mustache  and  rising  to  pace  toward  the  hearth  and  back. 
"Six  years  ago." 

Olga  leaned  forward,  gripping  the  edges  of  the  little 
table.  Her  eyes  were  shining  with  an  inspired  glow, 
through  the  tears  on  her  lashes. 

"It  is  like  an  answer  to  prayer,  it  is  an  inspiration," 
she  breathed,  exultantly.  "Do  you  see  what  lies  before 
me  now  ?  Do  you  see  why  I  was  being  urged  by  something 
within  me  to  return,  to  help  Russia?  What  would  have 
happened  if  I  had  married  again  in  America,  and  had  had 
this  letter  afterward?"  She  rose  in  triumphant  determi- 
nation. 

"I  must  not  lose  a  moment  now.  Russia  holds  a  treas- 
ure for  me  dearer  than  freedom,  dearer  than  life.  I  have 
two  great  things  to  do." 

Unsteadily  Alix  answered  her  across  the  table  where 
Soscha's  jewels  sparkled  in  a  heap. 

"Go,  by  all  means,"  she  replied,  though  her  voice  fait- 


A  Bird  of  Passage  849 

ered  a  little.  "We  will  do  all  in  our  power  to  help  you. 
But  sometime  when  you  have  found  Marie,  will  you  not 
bring  her  back  to  me?  My  little  sister,  whom  I  have 
loved  in  you,  without  seeing  either  of  you  for  these  many 
years." 

"God  only  grant  that  I  find  her,"  whispered  Olga. 


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